Peeta Mellark's POV (Catching Fire & Mockingjay)
by Sabina Armani
Summary: This tragic 12 part mini-series of love and loss depicts the incarceration Peeta Mellark, as he struggles to cope with the deadly quandaries of being Capitol prisoner during Panem's rebellion.
1. Part 1

**PART 1**

Katniss' screams rang in my ears. _Something was wrong. The plan was simple. Drop the wire and run back. Run back into my arms Katniss_, I think, my eyes frantically searching the dense dark jungle for any sign of her.

"Katniss!" I scream out, oblivious to the threats of Brutus and Enobaria lurking, ready to strike and slaughter me where I stood. Restless, I pace. Eager to deviate from the plan entirely. "Beetee what's happening?" The words make me cringe through clenched teeth. Beetee is speechless, his eyes darting to and forth in every direction. _Does he know something I don't?_ I ask myself. Finnick meets my gaze. _He knows too. Something is wrong. We have to get out of here._

"Katniss!" I scream again, thrusting my knife from my pocket. Finnick and I stand with our backs to each other. Facing the jungle, we circle. Weapons at the ready. Minutes pass. Katniss doesn't answer my calls. I grow on edge by the second. My hands ball into fists at my side. Rage simmers inside me. _I can't just stand here!_ I scream at myself.

"I'm going in," I grit my teeth, unhooking the sheath of arrows and bow. "Cover me." I shove the best defense I could have in Finnick's hands, breathe deeply and brace myself for attack.

"No. I'll go." Finnick grabs my shoulder, locking me in place. "I'm faster."

"Damn it Finnick! This is no time to be a hero!" I demand, clutching him by the collar. Only wielding an ounce of my strength I could still lift Finnick off the ground. Finnick's eyes grow wide. Slowly he raises his hands to my wrists.

"Let me bring her back." Finnick says sternly. The look in his eyes disarms me. Here in my grasp is the man who save my life not once. Not twice but three times. _I owe him my trust_. Yet putting Katniss' life in his hands shakes me to my very core. "Peeta?" Finnick whispers, jolting me back. I breathe deeply and release my grip. Finnick falls back against the tree, clutching his neck. Suddenly I'm frozen where I stand. Paralyzed with fear and loathing.

"Go." Is all I could muster, shoving my knife in my pocket and snatching the sheath from him. I arm myself with the bow and arrows, ready to eliminate anything that comes in our direction.

Without another word, Finnick clutches his trident and sprints into the darkness. I glance at Beetee who sits quietly against the tree, rocking back and forward like Wiress.

"Beetee." I say, catching his attention. His eyes are wild too, like the morphling's. Realization flickers across his face. "Keep it together. This is no time to lose ourselves."

"Johanna! Katniss!" I hear Finnick call. Guarding Beetee, I raise the bow and aim it dead ahead. The muscles in my entire body tense. Grounded. Poised. The boom of a canon jerks my bow toward the sky. Frantically I glance around. Beetee gazes up at me in despair. _Someone is dead_. My nerves ache.

"Katniss is not dead." I force the words from my mind to my mouth. I clutch them with my very being. _She is all I have left. I'm not going to lose her now._ I glance down at Beetee again for reassurance. Silently, he nods. I allow myself a tiny sigh of relief. Finnick's calls cease. I gulp, hoping of all the victors running around frightened and agile, he is still breathing.

Suddenly, a figure charges at me from the darkness. Brutus. With only seconds to react, I release the arrow. It flies into his knee. Grabbing another, it flies into his abdomen. I shoot arrow after arrow. Yet Brutus still maintains speed. An arrow penetrates his shoulder stopping him cold. Brutus plummets to his knees. No ounce of mercy left in me, I fire an arrow into his heart. His body jerks back and falls to the ground. He wriggles and shakes for a moment. Breathing deeply, the realization tidal waves over me. _I just killed a man. A man who's only defense only weapon was his bare hands._

I lower my bow and meander over. Standing over him, I gaze down at Brutus who clutches the bow piercing his heart. He gargles blood. It spews from every puncture point, bathing his body in thick red liquid, glistening in the moonlight. As I gaze down at him, I imagine myself in his place. With one final act of mercy, I slowly pull an arrow from the sheath and grip it tightly in my hand. I kneel at Brutus' side. Refusing to meet his big brown eyes, I thrust the arrow into his head. Blood spouts upward, dousing my chin and mouth. Another canon fire.

I sigh and stand, armed with the bow again. Hastily, I heave Brutus' dead body out of the open and into the jungle's edge to await the hovercraft. The silence is deafening. Every muscle in my jaw wants to scream Katniss' name. But I refuse. _The enemy was afoot. Lurking in the shadows._ Emerging from the jungle, I notice the pool of blood at my feet. Quickly, I kick up the dirt and scatter leaves, concealing all that remains of Brutus, the victor from District 2. Glancing at Beetee again, he gazes at me teary-eyed.

"And then there were five." I say defiantly. A rustle alerts me. Raising my bow, I edge toward the trees again. "Katniss?" I whisper, a slither of hope emerging in my voice. My heart races as my eyes search the darkness. Moonlight penetrates the dense canopy in small spotlights. Silence. The trees freeze, no longer swaying in the cool breeze. Cautiously, I turn and gaze at Beetee who stares at me. He sighs, a smile creeping onto his mouth. I feel a laugh escape my lips. Without warning, hands clap onto my shoulder. _Big hands. Bigger than the likes of Johanna and Finnick's._

I'm dragged back into the jungle and thrust to the floor. Four hands. Two men. Hard boots begin to kick me. I thrash out, shielding my face. My heart plummets to my stomach and my muscle slowly begin to contract. I'm powerless against their strength.

"Peeta?" Katniss' soft voice pierces my ears. The men hear it too. Their kicking ceases. My vision is blurry. Blood rushes to my head. Knuckles clenching my shoulder blades, I'm forced to my feet. My knees buckle slightly. I blink, again and again. Searching for any sign of Katniss in the darkness. Her whispering ceases too. _She must be close_.

Eager to fight off my attackers, I move to throw a punch when strangely my arms are tightened behind me and my wrists are bound by handcuffs. In the near darkness, one man retrieves a cloth from his pocket. Before I can scream. To warn Katniss to run, the man thrusts the cloth in my face, over my nose and mouth. Suddenly, I'm inhaling. The scent is profound and renders me speechless. The last sound I hear is Katniss whispering my name. And then I'm unconscious.


	2. Part 2

Katniss' screams ring in my ears. The shrill of her frightened voice startles me. Only twice had I heard such a vulnerable sound.

Once in the Games, I'd been gathering berries. When the canon boomed, Katniss' neck snapped to me with a look of both fear and horror. My brows rose, inquisitively. The canon did not sound Katniss, nor my, death but that of a tribute Katniss nick-named Foxface. It was her stealth that enabled her survival. But the bluish purple berries that resulted in her demise. It was my first kill. And it was entirely an accident.

The second during the Quell, I'd been electrocuted by an invisible force field, only to be revived by Finnick. Gazing up at her, Katniss was bawling, clutching onto me, as if I were her life source. Finnick had blamed her hysteria on hormones, playing on the story we'd concocted for the people of the Capitol. That we'd married and Katniss was with child. That was a lie, a pawn to gain their sympathies. But her tears were madly genuine. In that moment, Katniss revealed how deeply in love with me she was.

In the jungle searching for her, desperate to fulfil my dying wish of getting her home to District 12; I held onto the way she clutched me. Hoping I too would hold her in my arms again.

Katniss' screams wake me from unconsciousness. Jerking awake, I freeze, in complete darkness. My back is against something cold, hard. My wrists still tightly cuffed. Stretching out my fingers, I brush them against the metal. And it was just that, metal. _I am in an armoured car_. The car halts, parks. I hear men, two men. _Most likely the ones that had jumped me in the jungle. _Footsteps, that of heavy black boots. Doors open and a gust of cool wind engulfs me. _I'm not in the arena any more._

Unable to move freely, to see, I realize any attempts to escape are futile. So I obey the silent command as they haul me from the car. My feet land on hard ground. _Cement. There's only one place I can be. A place with cars and side walks. I was in the heart of the Capitol. _Firm hands clamp to my shoulders, the men lead me up a small flight of stairs.

"Identification." Someone demands in a surly bark. A hand releases my shoulder. Standing in such close proximity, I hear him rustle in his inner breast pocket. "And your hostage?" The guard asks, directing his attention to me. _The man, hand-cuffed and with a black bag over his head._

"Snow wants him unharmed. We're to accompany him to the penthouse." _Snow! President Snow of Panem. He designed this elaborate plan to capture me during the Quell. _At the mention of his name, my heart pounds, raging, a vicious muscle hell-bent upon escaping the confines of my rib cage. Before I can react, I'm thrust forward again. My shoulder jerks. The man tenses his grip on the pressure point on my arm. I hear a ping, a swoosh. Doors open and I think of the elevator Katniss and I had ridden to our suite for the first Games. Inside the elevator, I imagine the man, probably six foot tall with a stern jaw and hench, pressing the button marked 12.

Silence. I stand nervously. Cautious of what or who awaited me in the penthouse. _President Snow? Or Haymitch? _My jaw clenches suddenly.

We'd made a pact, Haymitch and I. To get Katniss out alive at all costs. I'd accepted my death, in the hopes that Katniss would live. Live the life she'd dreamed. Home with Gale, Primrose and her mother. _If I was alive, a captive of the Capitol. Was Katniss alive too? Held hostage as I am? Or had Haymitch concocted his own escape plan to save her? _My mind racks with questions. Questions I couldn't answer. But I knew one thing. _Whoever was to meet me on the 12__th__ floor was going to give me answers. Even if I had to acquire them with my bare hands._

As we rode the elevator, I count the floors. If only to distract myself from doing something dangerous. When we reached 8, one man began to unlock my cuffs. My arms tense, igniting my fight mechanism.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you." Someone whispers in my ear, the nose of a gun pressing into my side. I flinch, clenching my jaw.

I'd seen the overwhelming powers of such weapons twice before. The first: during our Victory Tour in District 4. After Katniss' speech about Thresh and Rue, an old man kissed his three fingers and raised them in the air. The three finger salute was familiar across the Districts of Panem, especially during The Reaping. It was a sign of thanks, of admiration, and a goodbye. Right before our eyes, the man was dragged to the podium and shot. It was so sudden. Katniss and I had no time to react.

The second: after our Victory Tour, home in District 12. restrictions were heavily forced by Peacekeepers of the Capitol with medieval torture devices stationed in the square. Gale had been found guilty of game hunting in the woods beyond the barrier and tied to a whipping post. Katniss intervened, suffered a punch in the face and met the nose of Thread's gun. I'd thrown myself into the cross-fire, defending them both.

Suddenly the cuffs were off and my hands were loose. With a swoosh, the hood is pulled off my head and my eyes are blasted in blinding light. I blink and blink and blink. My head is dizzy and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. I breathe a small sigh of relief. The guard releases his grip on me and I face them. They were a menacing as I'd imagined them. Burly, broad shouldered and towering afoot over me, with thick beards and sleek black hair. They were twins, twice as threatening. Standing before them with no more than two feet of space, I lean against the elevator doors and rub my wrists. They are red; the cuffs fastened so tightly that they rubbed against my skin and drew blood. They are sore too. The cuts needing to be cleaned and wrapped before an infection of dirt and sweat can course through my veins. My eyes wander to the gun clenched in his hand. He gives it a jerk, noticing my gaze.

"The odds aren't in your favor bread boy." The other said, unclipping his gun too. It was true, even if I can manage to lunge, I'd be dead before I can blink. Strangely, a smile emerges from the corner of my mouth. The irony was deliciously funny. The men gaze at each other in confusion and too begin laughing. The elevator pings and the chuckles cease. Their faces grow menacing again. The doors burst open, light flooding the small space. Defenceless, the guards shove me and I'm thrust into the familiar.

I stumble into the penthouse and freeze, unable to imagine what cruel horrors await me. Facing the living room, I sigh. It was empty. Misery and memories well up in my eyes. _The penthouse was our home, our safe heaven once upon a time. _It was all too familiar. The plush sofas, decadent chandeliers, the long dining room table we'd feasted at and talked battle strategies. It was both a place of fear, of what would await Katniss and I in the arena, and hope, that we might somehow survive the Games.

Glancing around, I cross the room and stride toward the bedrooms. Haymitch's was the farthest door. I stormed down the corridor and emerge into the bedroom. It was empty and clean with the bed neatly made and perfumed with jasmine instead of the surly stench of alcohol. I check mine next, it too was clean. I freeze at the door of Katniss' bedroom. With my hand on the knob, I pray she is inside,hiding under the sheets, taunted with nightmares, calling my name to hold her in my arms as I always had.

Slowly, I turn the knob and the door creaks open. And right there on the bed sat no one. _Katniss isn't here. I am alone_. My heart plummets into my stomach as I sit on the bed; where Katniss and I had slept just a week ago, with my head in my hands.

A sound breaks the deafening silence. Heels clicking against tiles."Peeta?" A voice calls. It's not Katniss but a smile emerges on my face suddenly. Leaping from the bed, I bolt into the living room. Standing in the foyer was Portia: curly pink and red hair falling to her waist, sea green eyes, diamond nose stud, wearing a navy blue sun dress. Her face breaks into a smile, eyes wide. I run into her open arms. She was so warm and comforting.

"Oh Peeta." She breathes, holding me tightly. Flushed with joy, I melt in her arms on the verge of tears. I muster every once of courage to cease them. Portia releases me and my eyes roam her face. High cheek bones, button nose and freckles. She grasps my shoulders, touching my arms and my chest as if checking for broken bones. "Are you okay, did they hurt you?" Portia asks, her voice breaking when she utters the words. Hiding my wrists was futile, _she'll notice them at some point_. Glancing down, I'm surprised to see they're no longer blood shot, pink but swollen.

"Portia I'm fine." I reassure her. She breathes a sigh of relief, hanging her head. Suddenly escaping from my mouth, the words I'd asked myself over and over again. "Portia what happened in the arena?" My voice was a near whisper. Worry draws across her pink face.

"Peeta, I'm so sorry." Portia utters, her hand flying to her mouth as if to stifle a whimper. My heart aches suddenly. _Is it still considered heartbreak if it's not just your entire body but your soul that feels broken? _Before I could move, breathe, open my mouth; the elevator pings again.

To my disbelief, Effie emerges from the elevator, looking as more ordinary than I'd ever seen her. Her extravagantly curled platinum blonde hair is no longer as bright, but a natural blonde; her make up no longer as clown-like but soft. She wears a simple plum dress with delicate gems sown into the bust. She is beautiful. Effie's gazes finds mine and she too breaks into a wide smile. I hug her in my embrace, inhaling the sweet scent of perfume on her skin.

"Thank goodness you're alright." She muses quietly. Releasing me, she rubs Portia's shoulder and leads her to the couch. In the rush, I hadn't realized Portia's silence. I sit opposite Effie and Portia, my elbows perching on my knees. "The people are furious." Effie says sternly, gazing at me with remorse in her eyes.

"Where's Katniss?" I ask, my voice strangely defiant.

"After the explosion, Katniss, Finnick and Beetee were picked up by a hovercraft." Effie says matter-of-factly, all emotion draining from her voice. "And you and Johanna were seized by the the Gamemakers. The districts of Panem are -"

"Uprising." I say simply. We'd seen what happened in District 8. Katniss is the key. Her act of defiance, the berries, sparked the ember that inflames the uprising. She is to be their mockingjay. The leader of the rebellion. Haymitch planned the escape, for the rebellion would die without Katniss. She is a symbol of hope. "The rebellion has started." I say standing, I pace back and forth. _But why am I here? _

Suddenly, it all comes rushing back. _Snow wanted a show! _He threatened Gale's life if Katniss didn't go along with the engagement, the wedding, the star-crossed lover's romance. _Convince me, _he had said. _Had she? _I thought hard. _The beach! _I've given Katniss the locket and told her to go home to Gale, to live. She'd kissed me like she'd never kissed me before. In that moment she'd confessed her undying love. That single act convinced Snow what she felt was real only to...use it against her. _I am bait_. Once again a piece in their Games. _Snow was to use me to lure Katniss._

"We have to get you out of here." Effie says gravely, jerking me back, no doubt wondering what Snow has in store for me. _Escape is futile. _

"No," Portia speaks for the first time in minutes. "You have an interview with Caesar Flickerman tonight." Portia says standing. Rubbing her chin, Portia paces whereas I stand frozen to the spot. "If Peeta doesn't make an appearance Snow will know..." She says, I can almost hear her mind calculating the escape plan which would most certainly fall to ruin. "Security is relaxed after midnight. The train station is vacant. If we can make it there we might have a chance."

A strange kind of admiration rises in my throat. Portia and Effie would risk their lives to protect me. An act of love I'd devoted to Katniss in a heartbeat. To know they'd do the same for me, stirs a warmth in my soul. Portia and Effie turn to me. My eyes wells with tears but I fight them. Unable to muster the words, I give a simple nod of approval.

The elevator pings again. _The noise is becoming irritating_. To my surprise, two red headed Avoxes emerge from the elevator and wheel in carts laden with food. The girl, I recognize as the Avox who waited on Katniss and I hand and foot in the short period before the Games and the Quell. The man looks familiar but I still can't place his face...

When the dining table is set, Portia, Effie and I sit. The Avoxes stand in the corner, waiting patiently. Despite the mouth-watering smells that waft from the delicious food, it remains untouched. I hadn't eaten in more than twenty four hours and hadn't slept in longer than that. Truth be told, the thought of eating made me sick to my stomach. And sleeping would only arouse nightmares from which I couldn't awaken and find Katniss sleeping in my arms. The thought was unbearable. We sit in utter silence, gazing at each other with no words of comfort or encouragement left to say. I send dinner away when the mushy pea and double cream soup began to curdle into thick green chunks, resembling a steaming bowl of vomit rather than a delicacy.

In the bedroom now, Portia sets her make-up box on the dresser as she had a dozen times. Without a word, we both fall into routine. Closing the bathroom door behind me, I gaze at myself in the mirror. Not long ago, the boy who had gazes back at me was just that, a boy. Now I gaze at a man, a victor of the 75th Hunger Games and survivor of The 25th Quarter Quell of Panem. Ever since my name was called at the Reaping, I'd endured hell and lived to tell the tale. Haymitch was right. _There is no escaping the Games. I'd forever be a piece to be played. A token for Snow to command to his cold heart's content. _

Pushing away the thoughts, I peel the shirt splattered in Brutus' blood from my torso, revealing a thick layer of dirt on my skin. Suddenly, I notice the burns. Electric burns, from the force field, had roused faint pink bruises of charred muscle on my chest, shoulders, neck and upper abdomen. I strip down and jump under the hot shower. My body relaxes instantly, as if poison coursing through my veins was seeping from my pores. Silently, I scrub away the dirt, blood and sand, rinsing away every trace of the arena.

Switching off the shower, I dry myself and quickly lather in moisturiser Emerging from the bathroom, my gaze falls on the black suit laid out on the bed. I dress and sit in the chair facing the mirror. Portia is silent, her cloudy eyes fixated on the assembly line of products before her.

Her hands began shaking as she applies make-up to my cheeks. They shake so heavily, she resorts to coating a single spot for two or three minutes to cover up her mistake. Portia struggles to keep it together as she had the morning of the Quell, when she said goodbye to me for the last time.

"Portia." She ignores me, determined to finish. Her eyes weren't flushed with tears but she was sniffling. Slowly, I grab a tissue from the little pink box and raise my hand to her nose. "Blow." I whisper. She smiles a little, rolling her eyes. Oblivious to the wounds on my wrists, Portia blows into the tissue. The sound was icky and disgusting. Witnessing horrors more gruesome than dead bodies in the arena, I am no longer repulsed by such ordinary things. Tossing the tissue in trash, I clutch her shaking hands. Portia melts at my touch and finally her eyes met mine.

"It wasn't supposed to happen like this Peeta." She muses, tears rimming her eyes. Her frailty was heart-breaking. Her words sadden me. The dream I'd planted so firmly in my mind of Katniss and I. Home in 12, watching sunsets in the meadow, surrounded by our children frolicking in the grass...Would be only that, a dream. "You and Katniss were supposed to live, supposed to go home and have the baby and be happy." Portia musters, hardly able to contain her misery.

"There was no baby." I say. Portia's face grows grave.

"You think I don't know that!" She stammers. Her reaction is so sudden, I'm rendered speechless. Sniffling again, Portia wipes her eyes in defiance, snatching her hands from mine and continues working."You're going home Peeta." Portia demands after a few minutes. Her determination warms my heart to boiling point. When she was finishes, she slips the jacket onto my shoulders and smooths down the edges.

I face the mirror and admire her handiwork. I once again I am a polished gem, as dashing as ever. It was amazing what beauty an hour of pampering could uncover. Except when it came to Katniss, she was beautiful even without the make-up, the hair or the gowns. Portia links my arm and together we stroll into the living room to see Effie pacing, deep in thought. Noticing us, Effie smiles but she too is close to tears. Stepping toward me, she touches my face, her eyes glowing as if savouring the moment of pure joy for the last time.

"Right." Effie puts her game face on, all traces of the happy bubbly woman vanishing, "The people love you, that much is true. You've already won their sympathies." She encourages, "Just...", Effie stops short. Truth be told, there were no words to prepare me for the next hour.

"Be yourself Peeta." Portia interjects quietly. _Be yourself_,the advice was as vague and weighs as heavily as _stay alive. _I nod, mustering all my courage. As we shuffle into the elevator, the Avoxes catch my attention. They both are passive and teary-eyed. And I wonder if Snow wishes me the same fate only to send me home to Katniss an Avox. I shake the thought away. _That's too merciful, even for Snow. _Slowly the elevator doors close and with each passing minute I am closer to my demise.


	3. Part 3

I pace outside the auditorium with sweaty hands, muscles on edge. Despite the heavy metal doors, I can hear the people of the Capitol crystal clear. I've paced before every interview. But twice before a sense of comfort would calm me as the doors opened and my eyes locked on Katniss sitting across the stage bathed in a golden light. Even when she yelled at me after my first interview, when I'd confessed my love, I'd felt relieved.

"Peeta you're making me nervous!" Effie seethes. Although she tries to hide it, I can tell she's more than anxious about what awaits me behind the door.

Portia emerges from a small door marked CAMERA CREW and strolls toward us, her arms folded across her chest. "They're ready." Portia announces. She rests a firm hand on my shoulder, cementing my feet to the ground. "Keep an eye out. We'll be right there with you." She sighs, knowing no amount of pacing can calm my nerve Portia and Effie: _my last beacons of hope_. Wrapping my arms around them, I wish I could protect them both in the recesses of myself where no one can take them away from me.

The giant metal doors open slightly, a slither of blinding light bathing my face. _That's my cue_,I think. Quickly I plant a kiss on Effie and Portia's foreheads and hesitantly release them from the safety of my embrace. Crossing the corridor, Portia opens the side door and braces herself, as if mustering all her courage. at her side, Effie gives me one last hand gesture: chins up, smiles on. _How could such a minuscule detail evoke so many memories? _Sighing, I steady my nerves as best I can and nod.

As the door closes behind them, I straighten my tie and run my hand through my hair. Clearing my throat, I reach for the door when suddenly the sound of footsteps distracts me. Peering over my shoulder, I gaze down the narrow corridor illuminated by small spotlights. From the shadows, a figure emerges. President Snow's gaze is glued to mine,unblinking, so as to not miss a second of my reaction. Despite the distance, I spot a single white rose tucked into the breast pocket of his crisp cream suit. Katniss had said his breath sickly wreaked of blood and roses.

At this very moment in the isolated depths of Panem, the Mockingjay is rallying a rebel armada. And I: Peeta Mellark, tribute of District 12, Victor of the 75th Hunger Games and survivor of the 25th Quarter Quell; am here, a captive of the Capitol. _Convince me_, Snow had said and Katniss had during the Quell. _I am her sole weakness. _Yet Portia and Effie are mine, merely pieces in the Game of cat and mouse Snow has concocted. I'd do anything to protect them, even if it means treason against the rebellion. Thus I must ally or die. And Snow and I both know it.

As I stroll into the brightly lit auditorium, my heart races. The crowd lets out a strange noise, somewhere between a gasp of relief and a groan, catching me off guard. Effie's voice whispers in my mind, _the people love you. _I relax a little, walking across the stage.

Caesar Flickerman looks beside himself, dressed in his blue powered suit and gelled blue hair. I take my seat opposite him and a wave of familiarity washes over me. Like a flashback, I recall my earlier interviews. The only difference is Katniss is not sitting across the stage, her cheeks blushing red as I told the people of Panem we were married and expecting a child. The way they awed with joy and fear of our imminent death. The sound will forever be implanted in my memory.

I turn my gaze to Caesar. He'd been staring silently for a long moment, as if still trying to muster the words. I knew how he felt, although it wasn't his life on the line. Caesar adjusts his tie and positions himself more comfortably. "So...Peeta...welcome back." His voice sounds hollow. The crowd silences, eagerly waiting for my charismatic persona to emerge.

I smile slightly,_ irony is hilarious_. "I bet you'd thought you'd done your last interview with me, Caesar." I ask, releasing a hint of sarcasm.

"I confess, I did." says Caesar. "The night before the Quarter Quell..." He weighs his words carefully, "Well, who ever thought we'd see you again?"

My jaw clenches a little but I relax as best I can. "It wasn't part of my plan, that's for sure." I say with a frown. I fixate my attention on the speck of fluff, refusing to meet Caesar's gaze.

Caesar leans into me a little. "I think it was clear yo all of us what your plan was." Caesar addresses the crowd with a hand; in my peripheral vision, the people simultaneously give a nod. Some clutch onto tissue and others onto each other as if bracing themselves for more heartache than they can bear. "To sacrifice yourself in the arena so that Katniss Everdeen and your child could survive."

"That was it. Clear and simple." I say through gritted teeth. Unable to stop my hands from shaking, I trace my finger on the upholstered pattern on the arms of the chair to distract myself. "But other people had plans as well." I cringe as the words escaped my lips. _Yes other people had plans, _I think. _Haymitch has betrayed me and left me for dead. Wherever he was I hope he was watching, if not dead already. _My brows crease, as I become lost in thought.

Caesar must have noticed because he changes the subject. "Why don't you tell us about that last night in the arena?" He muses. "Help us sort a few things out." Caesar seems genuinely intrigued.

And if the other interviews had taught me anything, it was that he too was as deeply captivated by the star-crossed lovers story as the rest of the Capitol. If not all of Panem. _And who could doubt it? _I'd confessed my love for Katniss since the moment I stepped foot in the spotlight and had been just as devoted since. I nod and sit quietly for a moment.

"That last night...to tell you about that last night..." I began but trail off, my thoughts muddled. What little I can remember resembles a dream, a nightmare even rather than reality. "Well, first of all, you have to imagine how it felt in the arena." I lean forward in my chair with my elbows on my knees, "It was like being an insect trapped under a bowl filled with steaming air. And all around you, jungle..." As I dig deeper into my memory, I can feel it. Like I am still there. I begin to sweat, immersed in the jungle heat again, if only in my mind. "...green and alive and ticking. That giant clock ticking away your life. Every hour promising some new horror."

Suddenly, it all comes rushing back to me. The force field, the black out, waking up to Katniss crying, the fog, the smell of burning flesh, the ointment,the beach, stinging wounds, man-eating monkeys, Johanna, Beetee and Wiress drenched in blood rain... My mind fires back memories so violently, I freeze, paralyzed in fear for a long moment, with my eyes shut tight and my hands in fists. The nightmares dwindle, flooded with blackness. Fighting off the demons, I take a deep breath and open my eyes.

Caesar was gazing at me with confusion and fear. Desperate for a distract, I rub my sweaty hands on the chair and continue. "You have to imagine that in the past two days, sixteen people have died – some of them defending you." My voice shudders, my heart aching with memories of little old Mags and the wild-eyed morphling. "At the rate things are going, the last eight will be dead by morning. Save one. The victor. And your plan is that it won't be you." I say, wonder if Katniss is watching. Saliva drains from my mouth. I hang my head, sucking up the tears that welled in my eyes. "Once you're in the arena, the rest of the world becomes very distant." I continue, my words holding the Capitol by the collar, "All the people and the things you loved or cared about almost cease to exist." As I speak the words, my mind screams, begging me to stop but I ignore the screams. _Panem needs to hear this, because I am alive to tell them_. "The pinky sky and the monsters in the jungle and the tributes who want your blood become your final reality, the only one that ever mattered. As bad as it makes you feel, you're going to have to do some killing, because in the arena you only get one wish. And it's very costly."

"It costs your life," says Caesar. Of all the torment one could suffer in this cruel world, I dare not wish the arena - the blood-thirsty game of kill or be killed - on anyone. _Maybe one, Snow. _

"Oh no." I whisper, "It costs a lot more than your life. To murder innocent people?" I sit back in my chair and shake my head, "It costs everything you are."

"_Everything you are_," repeats Caesar weighing each word, as if mulling over the fact that the once bright-eyed young boy, who'd grown so wise so fast, could grasp the damage the Games could do on one's very soul. The light seem to fade from Caesar's eyes suddenly.

A hush falls over the auditorium and I feel it spreading across Panem. A nation leaning in toward its screens. Because no one has ever talked about what it's really like in the arena before.

"So you hold onto your wish," I continue, breaking the eerie silence. "And that last night my wish was to save Katniss." I whisper her name,without realizing I'd done so. "But even without knowing about the rebels, it didn't feel right. Everything was too complicated. I found myself regretting I hadn't run off with her," I couldn't muster the courage to say her name, for fear I might break down on national television, "...earlier in the day, as she had suggested. But there was no getting out of it at that point."

"You were too caught up in Beetee's plan to electrify the salt lake," says Caesar.

"To busy playing allies with the others. I should have never let them separate us!" I burst out suddenly, my fury escaping the confinements of my mind. Clutching the chair for support, I breathe. "That's when I lost her." I whisper.

A few people in the front row let out a wail. I glance over and a woman with bright candy apple green hair fashioned with an extravagant emerald choker meets my gaze as she comforts her friend during her uncontrollable spasm.

"When you stayed at the lightning tree, and she and Johanna Mason took the coil of wire down to the water," Caesar clarifies.

"I didn't want to!" I scream out in agitation, loathing his words, "But I couldn't argue with Beetee without indicating we were about to break away from the alliance." I sigh, anchoring my temper, "When that wire was cut, everything just went insane. I can only remember bits and pieces. Trying to find her. Watching Brutus kill Chaff. Killing Brutus myself." My hands shake, remembering the blood smothering my hands. "I know she was calling my name. Then the lightning bolt hit the tree, and the force field around the arena...blew out." I say, hearing Katniss' screams pierce in my ears again.

"Katniss blew it out, Peeta," says Caesar. "You've seen the footage."

"She didn't know what she was doing." I huff, "None of us could follow Beetee's plan. You can see her trying to figure out what to do with that wire." I snap, recalling flickers of the video playing in the penthouse. I could hardly will myself to watch.

"All right. It just looks suspicious," says Caesar. "As if she was part of the rebel's plan all along."

I'm on my feet suddenly, leaning into Caesar's face, hands locked on the arms of his chair. The thought that Katniss could willingly leave me in the arena to die is infuriating. "Really? And was it part of her plan for Johanna to nearly kill her?" I badger, my temper rising, "For that electric shock to paralyze her? To trigger the bombing?" I'm yelling now."She didn't know Caesar! Neither of us knew anything except that we were trying to keep each other alive!" My voice catches suddenly, Katniss' face flickers in my mind.

Caesar gazes up at me, his eyes wide with fear. Hesitantly, Caesar places his hand on my chest in a gesture that's both self-protective and conciliatory. "OK, Peeta, I believe you." Caesar whispers. His accusations anger me, but the interview itself is Snow's ploy to get a rise out of me, to see what I know, to use me as bait. It wasn't Caesar's fault. _He too is a piece in Snow's Games. _

"OK." I reply, pulling back my grip and withdrawing from Caesar. Running my hands through my hair, I muss Portia's carefully styled blonde curls and slump back into my chair. Under the gaze of Snow and the whole of Panem, I wish Katniss was watching. She'd know I'd never turn against her but the odds of returning home weren't in my favor.

Caesar is speechless for a long moment, studying me. "What about your mentor,Haymitch Abernathy?"

My face hardens reflexively as it had in the elevator; wondering if he'd be waiting in the penthouse for me. _I wish he had been. _"I don't know what Haymitch knew." I say through gritted teeth, my fingers clawing the arms of the chair.

"Could he have been part of the conspiracy?" Caesar persists.

"He never mentioned it," I say, his last words replaying in my head. _Stay alive_, he'd said. _I may be alive, but only for Snow's own benefit. _

"What does your heart tell you?" Caesar presses on. For the life of me I want to change the subject.

"That I shouldn't have trusted him. That's all." I recall the debt Haymitch owed to me. My dying wish was to protect Katniss in the arena at all costs and he was to protect her while I'm dead and gone. _Yet here I am_. Haymitch is watching somewhere in the depths of Panem. _The debt is paid_, I think, hoping he's ashamed and that Katniss loathes him.

Caesar pats my shoulder suddenly, jerking me back into reality. "We can stop now if you want?"

"Was there more to discuss?" I ask wryly. My eyes grow heavier by the minute. I want to sleep my sorrows away. But nightmares of the arena will be chasing me tonight.

"I was going to ask your thoughts on the war, but if you're too upset..." Caesar muses.

"Oh, I'm not too upset to answer that." I take a deep breath and look straight into the camera, straight into Katniss' eyes and at the people of Panem. "I want everyone watching – whether you're on the Capitol or on the rebel side – to stop for just a moment and think about what this war could mean. For human beings. We almost went extinct fighting one another before. Now our numbers are even fewer. Our conditions more tenuous. Is this really what we want to do? Kill ourselves off completely? In the hopes that – what? Some decent species will inherit the smoking remains of this earth?" I ask, pausing for a moment to let the words sink in...

"I don't really...I'm not sure I'm following..." Stutters Caesar.

"We can't fight one another, Caesar." I say simply. "There won't be any of us left to keep going. I everybody doesn't lay down their weapons –and I mean as in very soon – it's all over, anyway." I conclude, questioning how long Snow would allow the rebel army to live before blowing them to bits. In an act worse than what happened on the Victory Tour in 8. Half of me believed what I was saying, the other knew what Caesar would ask next was not in our favor.

"So...you're calling for a cease-fire?" Caesar asks.

"Yes. I'm calling for a cease-fire," I lie tiredly, I feel a yawn arising in my throat but I swallow it. "Now why don't we ask the guards to take me back to my quarters so I can build another hundred card houses?" I ask sarcastically.

Caesar turns to the camera. "All right. I think that wraps it up. So back to our regularly scheduled programming." Music plays out, and then a woman walks onto the stage, reading a list of expected food shortages in the Capitol.

Before I could react, I was hauled to my feet by the auditorium guards. Glancing back at the crowd, I catch Portia's nod as she and Effie leave their booth. Lead out into the corridor, the men release their grasp on me as the twin guards stroll toward us.

"Frankie!" I call out, "We meet again." I chuckle sarcastically as they hand-cuff my wrists again. I glance around and suddenly, Portia and Effie emerge from the stage door. Effie quickly lunges for me but the guard clasps his hand on my shoulder and leads me away.

With all my force, I halt and turn, thrusting my body around. I gaze at them both with pleading eyes. Portia holds Effie, refraining her from intervening. "Take care of her," Is all I can muster. Paralyzed with fear, Portia and Effie both nod. I'm warmed with comfort by their vow to protect each other.

_Once again, I'm a captive_. Honestly, I never believed I'd escape into the night, board a train out of the Capitol and be home free. Such an escape would never be that easy. Snow wouldn't allow me the luxury of hope. Frankie hails the elevator again. First the swoosh. Then the doors. I'm shoved inside, facing the walls. In the mirror reflection, Frankie retrieves a key, unlocks a panel and punches a code into a keypad. A button lights up marked U. And suddenly, I realize I'm not going back to the confines of the penthouse. Portia and Effie had no idea but soon would. Their courage stirs an defiance in me. Fury engulfing me, I stomp on Frank's foot. He howls in pain and kneels. I head-butt him quickly and slam him against the mirror. It shatters, spilling shards onto the floor. I turn, bracing myself when suddenly his his brother raises a fist and decks me in the face. The taste of blood erupts in my mouth and I manage to spit before I black out.


	4. Part 4

I awake in a white room drenched in a bright white light. After a few blinks, my eyes adjust and I realize I'm strapped to a metal chair. The gold tie around my collar is loose, the beige shirt is unbuttoned, revealing the burns on my chest and the sleeves are rolled up to my elbows. Thick spiked chains tightly secure my forearms and torso. But my wrists, still sore and bloodshot from the handcuffs, are free. Wiggling in my seat, the spikes poke my abs. My legs are also bound by chains at the knees. And with the slightest move I could feel the spikes digging into my muscles. _Snow has gone through drastic lengths to imprison me_, I think glancing around.

The room is hollow with no doors or windows, nor guards or cameras. Just a simple metal table to my right. Relaxing in my torture chair, I half expect Snow to emerge from a camouflaged door, with the stench of blood on his lips. But as the minutes pass in silence, the odds of a quick death were not in my favor.

A faint noise startles me. My eyes dart back and forth as Beetee's had in the jungle. But the room was still, silent. Disturbed only by the sound of my heavy breathing. Strangely, I hear a beep and the faint clicking of mechanics. Curiously, I watch the metal table and right before my eyes, the circular centre descends. After a minute, a glass jar emerges, containing a single bee.

I squint, eager for a closer look. It resembles a wasp. _Not a bee, not a wasp?! A tracker-jacker!_ A deadly stinging muttation engineered by the Gamemakers. Without warning, it all became clear. _I am to be poisoned_. With another beep, the jar opens releasing the bug. As it buzzes around the room, my body tenses and suddenly it lands on my wrist. _If I scream it will sting me. If I move it will sting me._ Every which way the next moments were spun, I was going to hallucinate.

_At least they don't have anything to use against me_, I think. And as if the thought itself triggered a mechanism, the lights dim and an image is projected before me. _Not an image, a video_, I think as it begins to play. My mind bombards with memories of the woods, the scorching heat, the sweet singing of mockingjays... Feeling the tracker-jacker's sting, I scream out and suddenly I am back in the arena.

...

The earth is hard under my feet. Falling to my knees, I clutch my chest, feeling adrenaline pump rapidly through my veins. I'm dizzy, my head spinning. Breathing deeply, I blink and gaze up at the bright yellow sun. Stupefied, I stand and notice a machete, the blade hooked to a nearby tree. Snatching the weapon, my heart races as if foreseeing an imminent attack. Moments pass, except for the sway of the leaves in the breeze and the chirps of birds, all is silent.

"I am alone." I say to myself, relaxing. Sighing, I turn over the machete in my hands. It's heavy yet light, thick and sharp with the familiarity of a sword. Wiping my sweaty forehead, I begin to jog. Sprinting in and out of the trees, my eyes dart back and forth. My senses on full alert. I am under no illusion. _This is a hallucination induced by the tracker-jacker venom. _

Hiking up a hill, I lean against a tree and peer into the dense green valley. With no sign of life, I call out her name, my voice echoing through the trees. "Katniss!" I call again. _She is a hunter. Am I the hunted? _I ask myself. _Hunter, hunted?_ It's irrelevant because Katniss is both smart and stealthy. _Water!_ I suddenly remember. Dying to extinguish my thirst, I run through the woods, picking up a faint dirt trail.

As time dwindles by, I scour the woods, trying to retrace the trail I'd followed once to the stream. Under the blazing heat, I sweat and dehydrate. _Water can't be far._ That's when I hear it. _Water! _Sprinting through the trees, I break into a clearing and without warning my ankles are submerged. The water's cool, refreshing in the baking sun. Jumping around, I splash my face and hands and drink mouthful after mouthful until my thirst dies down. Tying the machete to my belt, I trudge downstream in my boots. _Katniss will be nearby, looking for me. _

The stream curves to the left and strangely, I remember the muddy banks sprouted in tangled plants and huge boulders. Perching on a rock, I breathe deeply, pacing myself in the dry heat. Peeling off the black shirt soaked in sweat, I rinse it in the stream. Desperate to hear her voice, I'm tempted to call her name, but who knows what or who is lurking nearby. Sighing, I wring out the shirt. Pulling it over my head, I freeze.

Katniss sits on the bank, tying her shoelaces. My mouth opens and closes several times, unable to muster her name. Instead I watch her. She moves with ease, collecting water from the stream into canteens. All the while, whistling to herself. The sound is soothing and familiar, with four notes. A mockingjay flies over and sits on the rock beside me. The bird mocks her tune. Katniss peers up at me and a smile emerges on her face.

My heart melts, my body aches, hungry for her touch. I want her in my arms. Her head against my chest. Her body pressed against mine. I want to inhale the scent of her hair, to feel her breath on my neck, to kiss her forehead, to hold her tight and never let go. Eagerly Katniss drops her bottle, pulls off her boots and trudges barefoot through the rocky stream. Bubbling with pure ecstasy, I fiddle with the knot on my belt loop.

Katniss' scream pierces my ears. My body jerks, jumping into fight mode, armed with the machete. Across the stream, Katniss is on her hands and knees, howling in pain. Her back arches, breaks and she's writhing around. My body is paralysed with fear, my mind screaming for me to run. _Something is wrong._ Right before my eyes, Katniss mutates. Despite the distance, I hear her bones breaking and I cringe at the sound. Her clothes are torn from her body with sharp claws sprouting from her fingertips. And suddenly there was no trace of Katniss at all. But a huge black wolf. _A mutt._

The warmth that oozed through me mere moments ago drains from my body. Adrenaline kicks in suddenly and I'm running with the machete in my hand. The wolf follows snarling viscously. My heart races, bolting through the woods again. Breathing heavy, I'm dying to climb a tree but those claws will catch me before I'm a metre off the ground. The sun blares down in a glossy hue. The trees look strange suddenly. As I crash through bushes, orange bubbles erupt and I'm caught off balance. Without warning I'm falling, tumbling through the thrush. My head spins and the world around me tilts. The tree trunks spout blood, the leaves sprout into giant pink butterflies. Plummeting down the hill, I grip my weapon with dear life when suddenly the ground levels out. For a moment, the earth is still. Breathing a sigh of relief, I grasp the machete to my chest. Glancing around, I rise into sitting position but before I can move the wolf leaps through the trees and pounces on me with its teeth bared.


	5. Part 5

I awake from the hallucination screaming, thrashing out. Thrusting my hands up to shield my face from the wolf's claws. Yet it is not the howls or snarls of the wolf that pierce my ears, only my own screaming. After a few moments, my body ceases to shake in fear. _I'm not dead_, I sigh. Immersed in the darkness behind my eyelids, I will myself to relax but my heart still beats rapidly beneath my chest. I breathe deeply, filling my lungs, no longer inhaling the scent of trees nor the sound of birds.

"Keep it down bread boy." A voice moans to my right. _Johanna!_ I'd know her belligerent sarcasm anywhere. Perching up on my elbows, I glance over. She's curled into a ball with her back to me. She's dressed in white, like a patient. I gaze at her through the thick white bars of the cell that separates us. She looks smaller than I remember, vulnerable, juxtaposed vastly to her ferocity on the beach. Leaning back against the bars, I prop my arms on my knees. They're sore from the chains but the pink swellings in my wrists have turned a light shade of purple. I too am dressed in thin white cotton.

A figure moves to my left. Peering over I'm astonished to see a girl with thick ginger curls, olive skin, cheeks speckled in freckles and emerald green eyes. I recognise her immediately. Annie Cresha, the victor of District 4. But not just any Annie, Finnick's Annie. He'd called out her name in the jungle, tormented by the jabber-jays that mocked her screams. She was even more breath-taking up close. Annie sat in the corner of her cell, rocking back and forth with her knees to her chest.

"Annie." I whisper, my voice hoarse from the screams. Her eyes were cloudy, ghostlike. Annie peers up at me, hearing her name. For a moment, she just stares. Then the clouds in her eyes disperse and she blinks. Now that I have her attention, my throat swells and I'm lost for words. Gazing at her, I think of Finnick. Because of him, I survived the watery death trap and the shock of the force field.

If I had died and he wasn't able to revive me, the alliance would have been broken. In a fit of rage, Katniss would have killed Mags to avenge my death. Now enemies, Katniss and Finnick would have disappeared into the jungle, awaiting until the opportune moment to kill each other. As night falls, Katniss would have climbed a tree and when the canons boomed at midnight, flashing the photos of the fallen. Katniss would have cried, mourning me. She'd have cursed Haymitch who was watching safely from the Capitol, wishing he'd have been electrocuted to death instead of me. Only to have damned me for having volunteered to protect Haymitch in the first place. In the next few days, Katniss would have hunted to survive and killed when necessary. Clever and driven by the memory of me, she'd have lived to the final three.

Eventually drawn into the open by the jabber-jays or some other horror, Katniss would have been attacked by Johanna, now allied with Finnick. Armed with her bow and arrows, Katniss would have fired at Johanna but suffered a slash across her torso by Finnick's trident. Slowly, Katniss would die, calling out my name. Inevitably, Finnick would have taken Johanna's life with mercy, having lost too much blood to be saved. With Katniss' death, Finnick would have been crowned Victor of the 25th Quarter Quell, returned to District 4 to live a long life with Annie. And Katniss and I would have returned home in matching coffins to be buried side by side in the cemetery.

Flashing back to reality, I'm faced with Annie who is gazing at me in utter silence. Mustering a whisper, I say "Finnick was a good man. My life is forever in his debt." Annie's eyes sparkle, hearing Finnick's name. Speechlessly, Annie nods and transfixes her attention on the clean white shoes laced onto her feet.

I rest my head against the bars and try to remember Katniss. Not the mutt I'd hallucinated. But my Katniss, the girl I was in love with. Little things began to flush back: our hands tightening around each other's, the brush of my lips against her forehead, the way I'd comfort her during her nightmares, playing with her hair as she made daisy crowns. Sighing, I wonder how long I have to hold onto memories alone before I could hold her in my arms again.

"Peeta?" Annie's voice whispers. Glancing over, I see Annie is no longer rocking anxiously but sitting cross-legged. She blushes as if embarrassed under my gaze, "I was just wondering…" She says, then trails off, staring at her hands. "How did you propose to Katniss?"

The question catches me so off guard, I am dumbfounded and speechless. Annie, the poor mad girl Finnick was infatuated with, was as intrigued by our love story as Caesar and the rest of Panem. Half of me wanted to tell her the truth; that the whole romance was a pawn, to win the hearts of the sponsors. Whereas, the other half wanted to keep the story alive. Against all odds, we'd fallen in love. I'd sacrificed myself for Katniss more times than I could count and I'd do it again in a heartbeat because that's what you do when you're in love.

"You'll laugh." I say, unable to hide my smile. Annie shakes her head eagerly and scoots closer to the bars. Close enough that I can touch her. As the minutes pass, Annie's gaze burn holes into my face. I gulp and rub my sweaty hands on my knees. Glancing over, I see that Johanna too has caught interest. I had an audience and a story to tell.

I told them after the Victory Tour, Katniss and I had grown inseparable, as was inevitable. That Katniss would wake me as the sun began to rise and we'd sneak into the woods. That on the harshest winter mornings, when our breaths lingered in puffs of white air, Katniss had taught me how to hunt with snares. And had even crafted me a bow with her bare hands, engraved with my name.

That, due to our sudden wealth, we no longer needed to scrounge for food as we had. So every morning, we'd clean our winnings at the bakery. And while Katniss walked Prim and Hazelle's kids to school, I'd bake the meat into pies. And by late afternoon, we'd hand deliver baskets of pies, cakes and loaves of bread to our neighbours.

I told them that the days seemed to blend together: Katniss hunted, I painted and Haymitch, well Haymitch drank. Soon my skills with the bow improved and some mornings, Katniss would just watch me hunt as I had watched her. Some weekends, we'd take the kids to the lake which had turned to ice. Others, we'd spend in the bakery, frosting cookies. That although her presentation wasn't outstanding, the taste was impressive. When we weren't baking or hunting, we were sitting by the fire, nestled in wool blankets.

And when I proposed, I'd baked a cake especially for two and let her eat the whole thing. And when she reached the centre, there was a silver ball with a little note inside.

I sat quietly for a moment, lost for words, lost in the lies. For the life of me I wished it was all real. Truth was Katniss and I were more enemies at home at the Games then in the arena itself.

"Well…"Johanna's voice startles me as she speaks for the first time. I glance over and sure enough, she's lying flat on the floor with her head in her hands. "What did the note say?"

I sigh and smile. "It said, 'If you'll be my hunter, I'll be your bread-maker'"I say, my eyes darting to Annie first but to my surprise Johanna bursts out laughing.

Annie and I both stare at her curiously as she wiggles on the floor, engulfed with amusement. More full of life than I'd ever seen her. Come to think of it, she'd only ever smiled once: when she saw Finnick on the beach. After a few minutes, Johanna calms down and forces herself into sitting position. One look at us and she starts laughing again, reminding me of how Finnick and Katniss had scared me half to death wearing masks of green ointment for our burns.

"Told you she'd laugh." I chuckle, gazing at Annie who just fiddles with her hair, wearing a huge smile.

"A line like that, how could Katniss resist." Johanna laughs, lying on her side now. Joyfully, she reaches through the bars and pulls my ankle toward her. And quietly, she began tying and untying my shoe laces. I allowed it. Keeping a smile on Johanna's face was the least I could do. _After all she helped Katniss escape. _


	6. Part 6

The next few days seem to run like clock-work. It was unclear how many hours we'd spend in the Chamber a day. But one thing was certain, the cages were not as primitive as we'd originally thought. They were designed for three and rotated to a single segment continuously. The cage positioned at that segment would lower into The Chamber. The schedules were so sporadic it was impossible to memorize, evoking a sense of impending doom.

The rotation was unpredictable, but each morning we awake to the smell of fresh baked bread. Our daily rations consist of a baguette, fruit and a handful of almonds. Annie was allergic to clementines so I trade my peaches for hers. Johanna prefers grapes. So by afternoon I've accumulated half a banana and apple, baby clementines and the nuts. Enjoying our meal, we'd chat amongst ourselves, sharing stories of life before the Games.

However our safe haven seems another reality entirely once in the Chamber. After The Games, the fear of losing Katniss emerges in my nightmares. Now traced with venom, they become more gruesome; with Katniss the hunted and I the hunter. The fear grows so tremendous that even awake, I can't escape the nightmares. Soon whenever I close my eyes, I see myself killing a muttation of the girl I once loved.

Increasingly the horror is so frightening, I awake and find my arms suspended in chains. And Annie would tremble, telling how I returned to the Cage screaming revolting things and had resorted to clawing at my wrists to draw the venom from my body. That she'd screamed and screamed for help. But by the time the doctors emerged from the camouflaged door, I was sitting in a pool of my own blood.

For awhile, Johanna and Annie resorted to feeding me. With good behaviour, I am released from the chains. We've even been rewarded with small luxuries such as fleece blankets and pillows and on occasion a chocolate pudding for dessert.

In time, torture in the Chamber becomes clear. It was designed specifically to use our weaknesses against us. Mine was Katniss. Annie's, although she never spoke of her horrors, was Finnick. To me, Johanna's was a mystery. That is, until I hear her stomach-lurching shriek for the first time. I awake to find Annie rocking back and forth with her hands over her ears. Her screams remind me of Katniss' in the arena and of the jabber-jays that mimicked the voices of their loved ones. I remember Johanna bravely embarking into the jungle, saying she had no one left to love. Once her screams die down, Annie tells me that Johanna couldn't swim. Since then I have a profound respect for Johanna.

Annie becomes the most docile after being submerged in the Chamber. She neither screams nor cries. And an eerie silence descends upon the cage. When she finally emerges from the depths, Annie would rock silently with her eyes closed tight. Her face not only drained of colour but expression as well. She might have been a vacant body, waiting anxiously to be infused with a human soul. Often it would take Johanna and I all afternoon to coax Annie, shaking speechless, from her corner and even longer to put a smile on her face.

Of all our transformations, mine is the most unpredictable. Sometimes I descend into the Chamber as emotionless as Annie. However on particularly restless nights, when the venom lingers for hours in my bloodstream, I awake viciously to the jolt of the cage. And in a fit of rage, attack the guards who struggle to restrain me in chains. Despite battling malnutrition and muscle deterioration, my body is still surprisingly strong, feeding hungrily on my fury. I've broken noses, jaws and fingers; sprained ankles, clawed and bruised. One guard got too close when locking my torso in chains and I bit his ear off. Since then, the guards emerge into the Chamber armed with batons to defend themselves.

As the dose of hallucinating venom increases, so does the extremity of my nightmares. Johanna and Annie become merely a flicker in my reality. Yet are the only lifeline I have left. Not only do they battle their own insanity, but struggle to resurrect memories of my former self.

"Katniss is a warrior, a soldier." Johanna muses, leaning against the bars of the Cage, gazing at me with such a surreal expression it's as she were literally looking into the past. "Her strength is in her bow. But you..." Johanna trails off.

I can feel Annie's fingers tying and untying my shoe laces with peruse concentration. I've grown to love them both. They were my anchor and compass, both guiding and grounding me to here and now.

"Peeta you're a warrior, a natural born leader..." Johanna smiles at me with fondness, her eyes alight. Her words were genuine and it sparks warmth in my heart. "You move people with your words and that is more powerful than any weapon." I smile, blushing. Suddenly, Annie's fingers freeze. Glancing over, I'm surprised to see Annie is nearly in tears. Inhaling sharply, I tear my gaze from hers, fearing tears myself.

"Do you believe that?" I ask Johanna, my brow furrowing.

"Yeah I do." Johanna replies, sitting cross-legged now. She had a defiance in her voice, reminding me of the heat in the arena. "And if you were the voice of the rebellion, the capitol wouldn't stand a chance."

"Peeta you have no idea the effect you can have." Annie whispers for the first time in hours. A smile spreads across my face, I'd said the same thing about Katniss. Johanna and I glance at Annie, who suddenly finds her voice. "You speak for the people of Panem, they were awestruck during your interview with Flickerman, your charm and genuine innocence captured our hearts."

"I'm afraid charisma won't help me now, Annie." I whisper, despite our humble abode, I am losing hope that we'll ever again see the light of day.

"Peeta we're going to get out of here." Johanna says gravely, the hope in her voice renders me speechless. "And when we do, I'd be honoured to fight by your side."


	7. Part 7

The laughs and joys of Johanna and Annie make captivity bearable. But even our serenity can't lighten the burden of my worsening nightmares. They begin peaceful, familiar at home in District 12.

The smell of fresh bread and cheese fills my nose. I stand in the bakery, wearing an apron dusted in a thin layer of plain flour. Sunlight shines in through the huge bay window and floods the kitchen in a golden glow. It is early, Sunday morning. The birds sing and I hear a low murmur of people hustling and bustling through the square. I sigh, kneading thick dough under my knuckles.

My ears hum with the crackle of wood roasting in the oven. I knead the dough, break off round chunks and sprinkle them with shredded cheese. With oven mitts, I retrieve a thick wooden plate from the inferno and spread the dough balls in neat little rows. I shuffle the burning wood with a metal prong and shove the tray in the oven and close the door.

Sighing, I clean the excess flour from the counter and wash my hands. A whistle pierces my ears. Peering over my shoulder, Katniss pokes her head around the corner. Smiling, she nods her head to the right, her fringe falling into her face. She blushes and tucks it behind her ear. Suddenly, I notice the bow strapped to her torso.

I smile, rinsing my hands in the sink and running them through my hair. Katniss vanishes from the doorway and skips across the square. Quickly, I untie the apron from around my waist, toss it on the table and sprint out of the bakery, locking the door behind me.

Glancing around, I sprint across the cobblestone square, through the houses and around the back alleys to the edge of the Seam. The wire of the narrow hole in the fence jiggles then freezes. Katniss usually inches through the opening into the woods but I prefer a different approach.

Jogging a few metres down the fence, I arrive at an abandoned house. Jumping onto a pile of old wine barrels, I climb onto the rickety weather-worn roof. On the edge, I back up a few feet and take a deep breathe. After a moment, I break into a run and leap across the fence. Bracing myself, I fall into the trees when my hands suddenly clutch a thin branch. I swing in mid-air as the branch bends to my weight. Letting go, I plummet to the earth and land on my feet. Crouching in the thrush, I glance around, listening for movement. The ground is quiet, the leaves of the trees swaying in the breeze.

Sighing, I stand and sprint deeper into the woods. Katniss stashes her bow and sheath in a hollow log hidden in green moss. Mine is hidden deep in the abandoned nest of a squirrel. Quickly, I retrieve my weapon and my most prized possession: a hand carved knife with a six inch blade.

Now armed our game begins, with Katniss the hunted and I the hunter. Quietly, I sprint through the woods with my bow raised and my knife tucked securely into my forearm. Minutes pass in silence. _Katniss is anything but vulnerable prey._ Taking a breath, I lean against a tree and peer down at the dense green valley below.

Without warning, I'm bombarded from above. Sheer weight buckles me to my knees but I turn, thrusting myself onto my attacker. Suddenly the blade of my knife is pointed at the base of Katniss' throat.

I freeze, smiling. Katniss inhales sharply, blood rushing under the blade. Her expression passive yet curious. I've seen the same expression on a wounded dear, both frightened and eager for a quick merciful death. I go to release her when Katniss clutches my blade in her hand. Before I can interject, she tosses her weight. Suddenly my back is thrust on the ground and Katniss sits atop me. With a flick of her wrist, the knife jumps from my grip into the air, flips and lands in Katniss' hand. Peering down at me, she runs her index finger along the long blade.

"You hesitated." Katniss scorns, her brow furrowing.

"How can I stab the girl I love?" I smile, rubbing my hands on her thighs. Her cheeks flush red at my touch.

"Hesitancy gets you killed." Katniss warns, worry flickering across her face. Eagerly, I snatch the spare knife from my pocket, thrust my weight against hers, and wrap her braid around my wrist. Once again my knife, smaller yet just as lethal, is pressed against her neck.

"You underestimate the element of surprise, Ms Everdeen." I whisper. My elbow is pressed against her chest and I feel her heart race.

"Seems I have Mr Mellark." Katniss chuckles. Arching my head, I inhale her scent, planting kisses on her neck, my nose brushing her skin.

"Peeta." A woman's voice calls. Releasing my knife, I gaze up at Katniss.

"Did you say something?" I ask, my hand trailing her back.

Katniss frowns, "No..." She whispers.

"You didn't say my name?" I ask, glancing around. Katniss shakes her head confused.

"Peeta." The voice calls again, louder, anxious. I recognise it suddenly. _Johanna!_ Effortlessly, I lift Katniss' body off mine and place her on the ground. Standing, I wander around. "Peeta, Peeta. Peeta!" Johanna screams and suddenly a sharp pain shoots up my knee.

My eyes jolt open, my body bolts up. Johanna gazes down at me with a shocking expression on her face. _I'm alive, _I realise. _I'm in the cage. I'm still a captive of the Capitol. My Katniss is gone. _

"Johanna..." I croak, perching up on my elbows. She's speechless, gazing at me with a cloudy perplexity.

"It's it's..." She stutters, her voice a whisper. Her words register suddenly. _Something is wrong._ And if it's not I nor Johanna... _Annie._ My head jerks to my left. Annie is sitting stock still, neither rocking or shaking. Her eyes focused, face expressionless, hands clutched in fists.

"Annie?" Johanna whispers. Annie is paralysed, frozen. Not even the sound of her own name thaws her from the shock. "Annie?" Johanna calls again in a sweet soothing whisper. As if a sudden warmth engulfs her body, Annie awakes. Her complexion paper white, as if she's seen a ghost. Her eyes dart to and from mine and Johanna's faces. "Annie, tell Peeta what you told me." Johanna ushers. Annie blinks several times then gulps in a lungful of air.

"Snow..." She stammers, licking her dry pale lips. "Snow's bombing the districts." Annie shudders in fear, burying her face in her knees. Shocked speechless, I turn to Johanna, wishing to ask the question on my lips. Johanna shakes her head in dismay. "And what of twelve?" I ask, my voice hollow yet defiant. I gaze at Annie who just sobs. As realisation sweeps over, a fire sparks a flame of fury inside me. "Annie what happened to twelve?" I ask again, anger emerging in my voice now.

Suddenly , something astonishing happens. A door opens in the white wall and two guards storm through. Johanna's eyes grow wide as I sit in amazement. The Cage rotates, my cage, to the descendent segment. Johanna, in a frantic panic crawls over to me and reaches through the bars but before I can grab her hand, the bars open and the guards burst in. Forcefully, they haul me to my feet. My knees buckle, numb with pain as I'm dragged out of the Cage. Heart racing, I thrust and thrash, fighting off their strength. Suddenly, I'm in handcuffs. "Peeta!" Johanna screams in horror, clutching the bars separating our cages. My mouth dries and suddenly I'm lost for words, eager for a quick and merciful death. The last thing I see before I'm taken away is Johanna and Annie crawling to the centre point and holding each other through the bars. Annie, sorrow stricken and weeping rests her head on Johanna's shoulder. And Johanna hushing her cries and rubbing her back. In that moment, they both mourn me.


	8. Part 8

The guards lead me out of the white room and into a dark corridor, glowing with small lights along the floor. It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the vagueness. But my knees buckle with each step. Locked in the Cage, I have battled dehydration, exhaustion and muscle deterioration has rendered my legs weak. The guards march, half-dragging and half-heaving me down the corridor. The heavy footfall of their thick black boots echoes in my ears. The metal cuffs rubs against my wrists once again. Although my body is numb to the bone, immediately I'm acquainted with the ache. At the end of the corridor, doors open and I'm both confronted and comforted by familiar grimaces: the twin guards, Frankie and his brother who'd I'd named, Bennie.

In silence, I'm exchanged like damaged goods at the local market. And with the swoosh of the doors and a buzz of a button, I'm confined in the elevator once more. Faced with my reflection for the first time since Portia's pampering, the man who gazes back is repulsive. My physical transformation is sickening. No longer was my body burly. Nor my muscles strong and tone. My skin is sullen, having lost its healthy glow. My eyes bloodshot and roused with deep purple bruises. Even my hair has lost its shine.

Frankie's expression is morbid. In his eyes I see shock, but also pity. We ride the elevator to the twelfth floor; and with a jerk, Bennie releases me from the handcuffs. With a swoosh the elevator doors open and I stumble out, buckling to my knees. I kneel, for a long moment drenched in the darkness behind my eyelids. My heart thumps heavily beneath my chest. For the life of me I wish a quick and painless death but the odds are not in my favour.

A shuffling of feet alerts me. Peering up, I'm amazed at who gazes back. Portia and Effie rise from the couch; their teary faces plastered with shock. Gasping, together they scamper across the living room and jump into my arms. I embrace them tightly, drawn to their warmth like a moth to a flame. I'd long forgotten the comfort of human closeness. I'm cemented in their embrace; the numbness melting away by the minute.

"Oh Peeta..." Effie whispers, her nose in the nook of my collarbone. Her voice drained of all hope and happiness. A lump rises in my throat.

"I know..." Is all I can muster before tears stain my eyes. I brush Effie's hair under my palm and kiss Portia's forehead. "I know..." Even in the deepest recesses of their minds, Portia and Effie could not fathom the horrors that arose from the darkness of the Chamber.

"Let's get you cleaned up." Portia says. With their combined strengths, Portia and Effie lift me off my knees.

But a sharp pain shoots up my spine and I buckle slightly, wincing through gritted teeth. Together, we inch our way down the corridor and with each step my muscles ache, as if every nerve in my body was being electrocuted. I'm a marionette, bending to their every command. In the bedroom, my eyes fall on the bed and I yawn. Nights of peaceful slumber seem an exotic luxury. Effie leans me against the bathroom door as Portia shuffles into the near dark.

A light switches on, illuminating the small space. Portia paces the 6 foot by 6 foot bathroom, pulling bath salts from the cabinet and spreading towels on the floor. Portia takes my hand, helping Effie perch me on the toilet seat. Portia fills the tub, adding foams and moisturisers while Effie kicks off her heels and kneels, untying my shoe laces. Like a wounded animal, I feel unavailing and unable to fend for myself. Although they don't seem to mind.

She sets my shoes to the side and tosses the socks in the wicker basket behind her. Lingering over me, Portia lifts my arms above my head as Effie peels the shirt, splattered in droplets of blood and saturated with cold sweat. Their hands are cautious, hesitant as if each brush against my skin may curdle a bruise or break a bone. In shock and awe, their eyes roam my torso, gazing at the electric burns on my chest and the deep maroon claw marks engraved into my forearms. The scars tracing my skin are reminders of the fights with the vicious demon inside me. _What have they done to you?_Portia's eyes whimper, brimming with tears.

I don't hesitate as Effie unties the knot of my pants. Portia averts her eyes, turning to switch off the facet. Now naked, they lower me into the tub. Once submerged in the warm bubbly water, my muscles recoil then relax. I sigh a breath of relief, tilting my head back and closing my eyes.

I long for sleep, yet fear doing so would awaken the demon raging inside me. In the Cage, suppressing the demon was futile but to unleash such a monster on Portia and Effie was utterly unforgivable. Struggling to stay awake, I fixate my attention on Effie who kneels at the end of the tub, dipping a blue scrub in the soapy foam. Portia perches behind me, running her fingers through my wet hair. The simple touch is soothing.

In silence they bathe me. Effie softly cleansing me in foams. While Portia massages fruity shampoos into my hair. Gazing at Effie, I realize hers is fixated on Portia as if they were conversing telepathically. _Wait till he hears about twelve, _Effie's eyes say.

"You know if you put enough pressure on a coal it turns into a pearl?" I say, catching her attention. _This is no time for laughs Peeta_, Effie scorns, a smile creeping in the corner of her mouth. I too can't help but smile.

Playfully, she tosses a green scrub at me. Catching it, I dunk the scrub in the foam. Seeing Effie smile immediately lifts my mood, quickly I scrub the areas she can't reach. Rubbing my chest with soap, I'm relieved the burns no longer sting. Once the thin layer of blood, sweat and tears is scrubbed away, I hand the scrub to Portia behind me and she massages down my back.

Feeling refreshed and rejuvenated, I sigh stretching my arms and legs out in the tub. Suddenly something shiny catches my eye. The v-neckline of Effie's salmon pink dress descends into a gold broach studded with rhinestones. As she moves they glisten in the light. I wave the thought away, ready to close my eyes when strangely I notice a thin gold chain tucked into the fabric. Curiously, I pull my knees closer to my chest. Effie leans forward over the tub, busy bathing me, and the necklace pops out of place. It's not the chain itself that captures my awe but a gold mockingjay. An exact replicate of the token Katniss wore into the arena.

Eyes wide I tilt my head back, Portia's head tilts too as if mechanically. Curiously, she gazes down her nose at me then at Effie whose scrubbing has ceased. I peer up and notice an extravagant black choker, studded in gems, laced around Portia's neck. _I must be going mad, _I muse, my brows furrowing. Squinting, I brush my fingers against the lace when, as if magically, the gems unite into a single embroidery. A mockingjay. _Could it be? Have Portia and Effie turned their backs on the Capitol, their home? _My eyes did not deceive me. They wore the mockingjay, pledging their allegiance to the rebellion. Such treason wasn't spontaneous nor frivolous, they knew the dangers; that being discovered would arouse the wrath of Snow with which the ultimate punishment is death.

Their defiance stirs a warmth in me but also scares me to death. Turning around I hang my head in sorrow. As they finish bathing me, I cease to acknowledge the mockingjays and they too neglect to mention it. Together Portia and Effie lift me out of the tub. Planting my feet firmly on the ground, I'm surprised to regain strength in my legs although they're still weak. Effie pats down my torso with the warm towel and drapes a robe over my shoulders while Portia rinses and drains the tub.

Taking my hand, Effie guides me onto the bedroom. I cringe a little as she eases me onto the bed. While their backs are turned I slip on some underwear. Portia emerges from the bathroom, wanders over to the wardrobe and retrieves a crisp cream suit with a golden beige shirt and beige leather shoes. She lays it on the bed and averts her stylistic eyes to the mountain of beauty products scattered on the dressing table.

Standing before me, Portia blow dries my hair, running her fingers through each wet strand. In the mirror's reflection, I see Effie's eyes light up like a girl in a candy store as she carefully she picks up jar after jar, inspecting each one by smell and samples the creams on her wrist. After a few minutes, she finally chooses a pale pink jar and climbs onto the bed behind me. Standing on her knees, Effie slips the robe off my torso, dips her fingers in the cream and lathers my back and shoulders. Portia switches off the blow dryer, selects a silver tube and moisturises my face.

Minutes pass in silence as they pamper me. My gaze fixates on the black lace choker around Portia's neck. The image of the mockingjay permanently burnt into my mind's eye with a hot poker. _Could Portia and Effie have orchestrated an army of their own right here in the Capitol? _Haymitch and Finnick both wore gold bracelets engraved with the mockingjay; and Cinna designed Katniss' black feathered gown. Even Johanna played her part in the arena. They all knew. Yet Haymitch wasn't only keeping his counter-attack from Katniss and I but Effie too. She'd never have forgiven him if she knew.

I'd wanted to be more than a piece in Snow's Games. Yet in a way I still am. My dying wish in the arena was to get Katniss out alive and thanks to Johanna she is. _Snow will kill me, it's only a matter of time._Katniss will avenge my death with an arrow to his head. The Hunger Games, the poverty and bloodshed of innocent people will be over. I realize Katniss will be the only one damaged beyond repair, but my sacrifice is a small price to pay for the civilian lives we'll save.

I push the thoughts away as Effie leans over my shoulder, her tiny pink hands coated in the shimmering cream. Her eyes roam my chest, specifically falling on the burns.

"The pain is less than it looks..." I say, gazing down at them too. With Effie's face mere inches from mine, I see her hesitate. Just as Portia's hands shook before the first interview, Effie's did too as she rubbed the cream onto my chest. Her touch was soft, soothing even. When she finishes, Effie pulls the robe over my shoulders and I slips my arms through.

With their hands on either side of my hips and my arms around their shoulders, we meander to the bedroom door. The pain in my legs sparks less with each step, merely replaced with a numbing sensation in my feet.

The bedroom door opens and standing before us is the male Avox. One look at me and the curt smile falls from his face. With the clench of his jaw and a gulp, I see he wishes to say something, anything to console me. But he can't, instead he stands there speechlessly with a look of pity in his eyes.

Effie clears her throat and as if by magic the Avox springs to life. Glancing around, he holds up a finger and rushes down the hall. I glance in her direction and for the first time, I realize how short she truly is. I may be no taller than Katniss but Effie stands at my chin.

The Avox returns from down the hall carrying crutches. I'm not alien to such devices, I'd seen men use them for support after particularly bad mining accidents. The Avox hitches a crutch under both my armpits. I remove my arms from around them and clutch the handles. A tremendous weight lifts off my legs and I breathe a sigh of relief. Eager to try walking I'm held back by Portia and Effie who have seldom released their grip on me.

I give them both a nod of assurance and take a few steps. Surprisingly, the pain minimizes, as the weight transfers from my aching muscles to the metal supports. Within minutes, I'm wobbling down the hall, following the delicious scent of mouth-watering food.

Emerging into the living room now, my gaze descends hungrily on the dining room table loaded with food. The female Avox busies herself, laying out plates and silverware. Absent-mindedly she peers up at me then fixates her attention on re-adjusting a napkin. Her head jerks up again and she gasps, as if seeing me completely for the first time. The red plate falls from her hands, shattering to the floor.

Brow furrowing, I glance down at myself and suddenly realise my robe has loosened, revealing the burns on my chest. Dropping the crutches, I tightened the robe around me and hang my head in shame, wishing she hasn't seen such a horrendous reminder of the tortures in the arena.

The male Avox sprints to her side as she kneels and picks up the shards of plate. Effie and Portia wander into the living room, both confused and on edge. The Avoxes clean up the glass as Portia leads me to a chair. My stomach grumbles as I glance over the delicacies displayed before me.

Portia and Effie sit opposite me and for a split second I imagine Haymitch opening a bottle of red wine with a stab of his knife and Effie scolding Katniss for having her bow on the table. Strangely, the girl catches my eye as she takes her place by the door.

"Wait!" I call out, startling both Effie and Portia in their seats. Worry draws across their faces, eyes darting to the Avoxes as if expecting some kind of attack. Peering over my shoulder at the Avoxes, I'm reminded of Katniss. "Thank you for your kindness." I say, "Please dine with us?" I ask.

Suspiciously they exchange glances, then direct their attention to Portia and Effie as if for permission. Watching them too, Portia turns to Effie who merely nods. And with that Portia pulls out the chair to her left. Hesitantly, the girl takes a seat next to me as does he beside Portia.  
For a long moment we sit in awkward silence, as if unsure of what to do or say next. So I turn my gaze to the array of food. My stomach grumbles hungrily and I'm tempted to dive right into the meats. But I decide against it, not wishing to vomit up my dinner. Instead I pull of bowl of steaming hot tomato soup toward me.

Such a simple action, seems to thaw them from paralysis. The girl favours a bowl of soup too as does he. Portia and Effie dish out plates of rice, chicken and vegetables, grabbing off chunks of bread, and pouring glasses of blood-red wine. In silence we enjoy our dinner, with only the sound of forks and knives scratching on plates. The Avoxes sip the soup with spoons. She and I shared the tomato as well as the cream of mushroom between us.

"I didn't catch your name." I say, turning to her. Setting the spoon on the red napkin, she rolls the sleeve of her uniform to her elbow. On her forearm is the name: _Lavinia_ scrawled in an elegant and curly hand. It is written in fresh rather than ink like a scar instead of a tattoo. Peering at him across the table, I see he too is branded, with the name: Darius. Unlike hers, his is jumbled, the D jerky and uneven and the letters scrawny and bunched up.

"They're forced to scar themselves, a signature." Effie fills me in. It's quite ironic actually, here we are traitors of the Capitol, each with a personal vendetta against Snow. _I for one wouldn't mind his head on a platter._

"It's beautiful," I whisper to her, "In a tragic sort of way." A smile creeps on her face. "Check out mine." I say, rolling up the sleeve of my robe, revealing my battle wounds. Merely one reminder of my torment in the Chamber. Darius raises his eyebrows, clearly impressed with the damage fingernails can do. Portia's expression is grave, ashamed I hide the wounds and finish my soup.

Suddenly Annie's voice whispers in my mind. _Snow... Snow's bombing the districts. _She'd said in a cold sweat.

"Any news on the rebellion?" I ask. Portia refuses to meet my gaze, eating her dinner. Effie wipes her mouth with her napkin square and takes Portia's hand.

"They bombed a hospital of injured refugees in eight. The rebels shot down a hover-plane." Effie says heavily, careful not to divulge too much information.

"And twelve?" I ask, suddenly reminded of my rising temper in the Cage. "And my family?"

"From what little we know, there were no survivors Peeta." Effie says, tears brimming in her eyes. My jaw clenches reflexively, standing I excuse myself from dinner and head to the bedroom, oblivious to the crutches.

My jaw clenches reflexively. Standing, I excuse myself from dinner and head to the bedroom, oblivious to the crutches.  
Emerging in my bedroom, I lock the door behind me. Switching on the bathroom light, I drench my face in cold water. Gazing at my reflection, I'd disgusted by what stares back. My eyes are bloodshot and my cheeks burning red as anger bubbles up inside me.

Body tensing, I grab a towel and wrap it around my hand, balling it into a fist. Lunging toward the mirror, I scream out and punch the glass. It shatters, shards flying. My temper raging, I thrash out. Adrenaline pumping, I grow viscous, as animalistic instinct consumes me. Kicking the bathtub, breaking the glass shower door, punching the cabinets. Minutes pass as blood rushes to my head and the sound of my own screams echo in my ears.

Running out of steam, I slump to the floor and hang my head in my hands. I feel like crying but tears cease to sting my eyes, instead a sadness, a sickening sadness sits in the pit of my stomach. Breathing deeply, I relax and tension is relinquished from my muscle.

_There were no survivors, _Effie's voice whispers in my mind. Surely something so horrendous could not be true? Somewhere in the depths of Panem Katniss is leading an army of rebels. Gale will be fighting bravely by her side and if Gale made it out of twelve alive, then Primrose and Hazelle were also rescued. Meaning there's a chance my family are alive.

I emerge from the bedroom, dressed in the crisp cream suit. Walking down the corridor, I'm surprised to feel the aching pain in my legs has been vanquished by a numbing sensation.

Hate courses through me like a virus but I can't let my temper control me. Snow has destroyed my home, hoping my grief will cloud my judgement and I'll divulge rebel secrets. Suddenly the motive of Haymitch's lies become clear. The rebels battle strategy was neglected from Katniss and I because when one of us is captured the rebellion would be compromised.

The bombing of twelve was specific, eradicating any allies of the Mockingjay. Because Snow knows the best hostages are those who have everything to lose. _I however have no one left to love, except Portia and Effie, Johanna and Annie.._.Thus I have no other alternative but to distance myself, to severe emotional ties because even Portia and Effie aren't safe from Snow's wrath.

Strolling into the living room, eyes fixate on me. Even Darius and Lavinia turn and stare. Clearing my throat, I rouse the apathy needed to fulfil my dying wish: to kill Snow. Snatch up the sharp bread knife and twirl it in my hand. Scanning over the food, I notice a bowl of brightly wrapped sweets. Raising my brow, I grab a few handfuls and stuff them into my jacket pockets. The half empty bottle of wine catches my eye. Snatching up the bottle, I gulp down a few swings. The alcohol burns my tongue and a whip of fire cracks in my throat. The taste is bitter but simmers into a sweet sensation. _Know I see the appeal_, I think to myself, reminded of Haymitch's addiction. With every move, I absorb the audacity and bravado that the venom evoked; such maliciousness became second nature.

A single piece of paper sits on the farthest end of the dining table, where Portia unpacks more cosmetics. Leaning against a chair, I peer over, the rim of the bottle pressed to my lips.

"What's this?" I ask, not the least bit interested myself.

Effie paces back and forth, biting her nails. She glances in my direction absent-mindedly, "A list of talking points for the interview." She says and it takes but a second to understand what she means.

"They're scripting me?" I scoff, smirking at the idea." Well wouldn't want another revelation would we?"I add, remembering the hush that fell over the auditorium as I divulged the darkest secrets of the Games.

"No!" Effie startles me, stopping in her tracks. She gazes at me dead seriously. "You'll be dead by morning." She says, all traces of warmth and compassion drained from her face. Shrugging, I peer over my shoulder at the clock on the wall. Above it is a painted portrait. Bouncing the knife in my hand, I flick it across the room. With a bang the blade is thrust deep in his forehead. Wasn't it obvious, _I'm going to kill Snow._


	9. Part 9

Sitting in the chair opposite Caesar, the colour drains from his face as he looks closer at me. The man he'd seen a few short weeks ago has lost at least fifteen pounds, my skin is grey under the make-up and my eyes are heavy with sleepless nights.

Small talk was futile, worthless bicker. Forget about the weather, I've only seen the sky in my nightmares. Just by the look in his eyes, I know Caesar is under no illusion. Snow has a way of eliminating threats and Caesar and I both know my time is tick tick ticking away. And with each passing minute I'm closer to death and farther from the girl I once loved.

The audience calms down as Caesar comments upon rumours that Katniss is taping propaganda for the districts.

"They're using her obviously." I scoff, slouching in my chair, bravado rising in my voice. "To whip up the rebels. I doubt she even really knows what's going on in the war. What's at stake." I lie.

Truth be told, Katniss is more familiar with the damage and destruction caused by Snow's tyranny than anyone in the Capitol. The districts allying with the rebellion was inevitable.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell her?" Caesar prompts.

"There is," I reply, gazing straight into the camera and hopefully into her eyes. "Don't be a fool, Katniss. Think for yourself. They've turned you into a weapon that could be instrumental in the destruction of humanity. If you've got any influence, use it to put the brakes on this thing. Use it to stop the war before it's too late."

Suddenly I'm lost for words. _Before it's too late and you and Prim and everyone you love is burned to the ground like in twelve. "_Ask yourself, do you really trust the people you're working with? Do you really know what's going on?" I say, thinking of the people pulling the strings behind the rebellion and what they plan to do once Snow is no longer President of Panem. "And if you don't... find out."

And with that, the seal of Panem is broad casted on the screen behind me, cameras switch off and the show is over. Once again I'm hauled to my feet by the guards. The audience is frantic, whispering in their seats. The guards lead me toward the heavy auditorium doors, they opened and my gaze meets President Snow.

"Now now gentlemen," Snow says, stepping toward me in his crisp white suit. Releasing their grip on me, I adjust my tie.

"If I may say Mr Mellark," Snow says. Although I stand farther than arms length from him I can smell the blood on his breath, "You cease to defy my expectations."

"In all honesty President Snow," I say as politely as possible through gritted teeth, "I owe you congratulations, for your valiant reign, striking fear in the hearts of Panem and spilling innocent blood for your entertainment." I say smugly, mocking him. Snow raises his eyebrow as if impressed, "Such a pity a handful of poisonous berries lead to its demise..." Snow's face contorts into a grimace, his eyes narrow, cat-like. Before I can move, Snow raises his fist and punches me in the face. Blood erupts in my mouth.

The next thing I know, a door opens at the end of the eerie corridor and I'm comforted by the harsh familiarity of the Cage, bleached in bright white light. The lid of my cage opens and I'm shoved inside. The guard throws the white uniform at me with a mean grimace and I strangely miss Frank who pitied me.

"Peeta what happened to your nose?" Annie asks, glancing up from today's rations.

Among the fruit and bread rolls, is a pile of walnuts, instead of almonds. Slipping my leg through the bars, I stomp on her walnuts, smashing the shells. A smile breaks out on her face as she gathers the nuts. I kick off the leather shoes and socks and slide them to the guard. _Lucky for him, he's safely outside the bars of my cage. Otherwise I'd be tempted, especially with my track record._

"Snow." I say simply. Slipping off the cream jacket, I turn it upside down, spilling out my scavenges. Johanna, unimpressed by the nuts, reaches through the bars and picks up a brightly wrapped sweet.

"What the hell did you do?" Johanna scolds like my mother. Although I know she hopes my bloody nose wasn't punishment for stolen candies.

"Congratulated him on his long reign of blood, sweat and tears." I say, loosening the gold tie and unbuttoning the beige shirt, showcasing my scars for everyone to see. "Then added that it is such a shame a handful of berries led to its demise."

"That wasn't smart Peeta." Johanna's voice softens, a sly smile emerges in the corner of her mouth as she curiously unwraps a chocolate sweet. Johanna doesn't avert her eyes as I unbutton my pants and I strangely recall her stripping naked in the elevator. I blush a little as the clothes fall to my feet. Quickly, I slip on the white uniform.

"I know." I say, as the guard snatches up the clothes and disappears behind the white door. Leaning against the bars, I sigh pulling on the white socks. "But what more can Snow do to me?" I ask, unwrapping a candy. Biting into the chocolate, sticky sweet caramel erupts in my mouth, replacing the bitter taste of my own blood.

"It wasn't the berries Peeta." Annie whispers, collecting the empty wrappers.

"What wasn't the berries?" I ask, running my hand through ravaged curls.

"The berries didn't spark the rebellion." Her words surprise me and I suddenly fear prying eyes. "I know it must seem so, but the love you and Katniss have for each other..." Annie muses slowly, quietly trailing off as if to let the silence speak the truth. "Katniss didn't have the heart to sacrifice you to save herself, because her heart belongs to you."

My throat tightens, remembering Katniss, the locket on the beach and finally the pearl. In this moment, I hope Katniss clutches onto that pearl for dear life as if it were her last token of me.

"That love, that ill-fated love, has changed everything."

"And may have condemned us all."I mutter under my breath. As prepared as I am to sacrifice myself to win this war, I wish I was fighting beside Katniss and the rebels, safe in...My mind freezes. _If twelve's been blown to bits where is Katniss hiding? In the woods, underground, on an island. Surely in another district, but which?_

As the moments pass, I rack my memory for any clues Haymitch may have hinted. _There aren't any_! Thinking hard, I recall Katniss and her plan to flee twelve before the Quell was announced. She'd met two fugitives camping in the woods, said they were looking for..._Thirteen. Katniss and the rebels were in District Thirteen. _

"Was it worth it, Johanna?" Annie asks, her voice bringing me back to the Cage, "You risked your life in the arena so Katniss could lead the rebellion."

Johanna hangs her head in silence for a moment as if collecting her thoughts. _Or recalling the names of her fellow Victors killed in the Quell._

"For every child's life we'll save, yes." Proudly, she speaks her mind, "And I'd do it again in a heartbeat." The defiance in her voice is all too familiar and knowing it'll get her killed one day scares me to death.

We fall silent for a long moment as if imagining a life without the Hunger Games. _The people would be happy, knowing their children will never be reaped and starved, slaughtered or mutilated or worse kill to survive. And Katniss may have the life she doesn't let herself believe she wants_. _With Gale. _

"So what's happening in the land of the living?" Annie pipes up rather cheerfully, the aura of serene possibility vanishing. "Any strikes against the Capitol are in our favor." _For the rebels anyway. We however are merely collateral damage._

"Nothing but chaos, bombed districts, dead civilians, food shortages..." I say, recalling the destruction highlighted in the script tailor-made by Snow. "Katniss is apparently filming propaganda."

"Rallying the rebels?" Annie asks, although it's more of a statement than a question.

"Someone's pulling the strings." I say, recalling Katniss' suspicions regarding the new Head Gamemaker, Plutarch, who hinted the clock design of the arena.

During her private interview, Katniss said she'd named a dummy Seneca Crane and tied a noose around it. The Gamemakers weren't pleased._But now they know what happened to Crane. Whoever it is, Katniss is on a short leash and she knows it._

As the day stretches on, the Cage falls silent. Because despite our hopes, we know are days are numbered and Snow is holding the clock. I want to tell them about Lavinia and Darius, Portia and Effie and their mockingjay tokens. But the cameras are watching, waiting for a slip of the tongue. _Even in the Cage, it's too risky to speak freely_. Annie soon falls asleep, wrapped in the blanket to keep warm, leaving Johanna and I alone in the silence.

"How was she when I was gone?" I whisper, careful not to wake up Annie. Between my nightmares and Johanna's torture in the Chamber, peaceful undisturbed sleep is a luxury we can't afford to miss.

"Cried mostly," Johanna says, sitting cross-legged with her attention fixated. Three pairs of white shoes sit before her, with their laces removed. "When she was in the Chamber she called out Finnick's name." Johanna whispers, tying the laces into fancy knots I'd seen Katniss make in the training center. They remind me of Gale's snares.

"You love him don't you," I say, catching Johanna's attention. "It was his voice the jabber-jays mocked."

"She's losing hope we're getting out of here alive." Johanna sighs, oblivious to my question. _She loves the boy with the sugar cubes._

"Aren't you?" I ask. _With Snow's snake-like eyes locked on me, the chances of ever going home to twelve were not at all in my favor._

"You can't think like that Peeta, the rebellion needs you..." Johanna says, yet she knows it's not true. _Only Katniss will be damaged beyond repair when I die._  
"The rebellion needs Katniss, the girl on fire." I reply, my eyes fixated on her quick fingers.

"You were on fire too." She says. My eyes meet hers and I can't help but smile. _I might have been on fire but Katniss commanded the crowd._

"Johanna, if we get out of here..." I whisper, wishing there was an easy escape route.

"When!" She interjects defiantly, hell bent on keeping her hopes alive.

"If..." I argue, my voice shrinking. "I need a favour."

Johanna's face softens and her eyes widen with fear, "No, Peeta I'm not saying goodbye."

"Listen!" Reaching through the bars, I grab her by the wrists and pull her close. Annie rustles in her sleep and I lower my voice. I gaze at Johanna with my nose inches from hers. "Something is wrong...they're changing me...I can feel it...the things I say...the nightmares..it's the tracker-jacker venom." I choke out, strangely lost for breath.

"I don't, I don't understand what you're asking...?" Johanna shakes her head, her brow furrowed.

"Johanna... our capture was... no... accident." I say gravely and she hangs on my every word. "We're the bait...Don't you see?"

Suddenly the arena flashes in my mind: the pedestals, the salt water, the force field, the acid fog, the man-eating monkeys, the blood rain, the Cornucopia, the lightning tree...All created by design to force us together and inevitably tear us apart. _Snow planned it all. Convince me, _he'd threatened. _And Katniss did the moment I died._

"If Snow doesn't kill me...you have to."

"Peeta," Johanna whispers, deadly serious. _She's not naive, _she's seen the effects of the torture first hand and we both know it'll escalate until I'm merely an empty shell of a man Snow can manipulate to his cold heart's content. "Katniss will never forgive me."

"She can't forgive you if she's dead!" My voice rises to a shrill whisper. Sighing, I release my grip on Johanna's wrists and her hands slide down the bars. "Please if...if I...hurt her." My thoughts trail off, living in a world without Katniss is no life at all. I recall our moments on the beach, I told her if she dies and I live, I'll never be happy again and it was the truth. _She is my life._

Johanna slips her palm in mine, peering up at me, "You won't, you love Katniss."

"Johanna you're the only one I trust." _That's a lie_. When the time comes and Johanna can't do it, there's always Gale. If I pose enough of a threat, he'll kill me. _If all else fails, I can always wreak havoc and hopefully get shot in the cross-fire._

Johanna is grave with all traces of amusement drained from her face. Yet she looks unconvinced. _Not of me but herself. _She and I both know she won't be able to deliver the pain-staking favor.

"Johanna, if Katniss dies so does the rebellion...and Snow wins." I say the last bit slowly, knowing it'll seal the deal. Johanna's face hardens. As much as she doesn't want to be my maker, both of us want Snow's head.

"I won't let that happen." Johanna says, her jaw clenched. And with that, _I've signed my suicide note._  
As times dwindles on, I find myself drifting off, only to wake and find Johanna in the exact spot I'd left her with Annie softly snoring and curled into a ball. Sitting up, a shiver runs down my spine and a yawn escapes me. The sound alerts Johanna, she glances up from her knots.

"You should sleep Peeta." She whispers. The fleece blanket hangs around her shoulders with the pillow in her lap, lined with shoe lace knots. Shaking my head, I rub my eyes and sit up a little straighter against the bars.

"No, I don't want to leave you alone." I say, suddenly reminded of the sleep shifts in the arena, whereby at all hours of the night someone was on watch.  
"I'll be fine," Johanna waves the shoe lace in her hand as if to say: _as long as my hands are busy._  
Sighing, I give Johanna one last long look, seeing so much more than the tenacious warrior armed with an axe. _She and Annie are all I have left_, I think as I lay my head on the pillow and pull the blanket to my ears, _I'll be lost without them. _In the near silence, my eyes growing heavier by the minute and I suddenly am plunged into darkness.


	10. Part 10

I wake softly to the sweet sounds of birds singing. Yawning, I stretch, my arms and legs extending to the edges of the full size mattress when I realize _I'm in twelve, home in the Victor's Village. _Opening my eyes, I gaze up at the familiar white ceiling of intricate designs. Sunlight glistens through the cream curtains and illuminates the pale yellow walls.

"Katniss?" I call, expecting to hear her voice to echo. A moment of silence passes and I sigh. _She must be hunting_, I think, jumping out of bed and into the bathroom. Quickly, I shower, brush my teeth and pull on clean underwear.

Emerging from the steam, I dry my hair and strangely notice a large blank canvas propped in the corner of the bedroom. Tossing the towel aside, I stroll over with curious eyes and sit on the little wooden stool. Brushing my fingers against the canvas, a wave of serenity washes over me. Breathing a sigh of relief, I open the cream curtains, unleashing blinding sunshine and a warm summer breeze wafts through the open window.

I face the easel toward the bedroom door. With my bare back to the window, the sun warms the tiny blonde hairs and casts a silhouette of myself on the hard wooden floors. Sighing, I grab a bottle of red paint and squeeze a spoonful of into the shallow pools on the easel. In the next few minutes, I squeeze bottle after bottle of glistening acrylic paints until I have the colours of the rainbow.

A soft breeze wafts in from the window, rustling the curtains and a shiver runs down my spine. Grabbing a thick paintbrush, I gaze at the blank canvas before me with not a single inspiration. I huff and glance around the room, hoping something will catch my eye.

Since I moved into this house in the Victor's Village, the designs of the walls ceased to amaze me. Just the delicate detail rendered me speechless, and to know it was all by hand stirred a great admiration in me.

Eyes wandering to the canvas again, inspiration flickers in my mind's eye. Dipping the tip of the brush into the pool of shimmering black, I dab the paint onto the back of my hand, adding flakes of white to the palette until I find the perfect shade of grey. Raising the brush to the canvas, I hesitate a moment, listening to birdsong and the sway of the trees.

Sighing, I take a breath and touch the brush to the smooth canvas and begin to paint. As the minutes pass, my hesitant dabs of colour become long thick strokes; with each the motion of my wrist becomes familiar. Quickly, my hand flies across the canvas, coating almost the entire white space in grey leaving an arch of white for the door. With a smaller brush, I paint delicate detail in a darker shade of grey into the ceiling until the room is nearly an exact replicate of the room before me.

Quickly, I rinse the grey paint from my hand with a damp cloth. Careful not to smudge the grey, I paint an arch with a pointed tip for the door in ruby red, adding a pair of knockers in grey. Then I paint the remaining space around the door grey, using short strokes in the same fluid movement.

With a thin brush, I paint yellow picket fence of x's, encompassing the entire room except the left hand corner. Picking up the little pot of deep green, I dab the brush ever so lightly over and over, until a lush green garden grows within the fence. With the brown, I paint thin wooden stakes spaced evenly in rows. With the emerald green, I paint pair of stems, wounding around the each stake.

Finally, with a smaller brush, I paint glorious roses. Row upon row of sumptuous blooms, in ruby red, lush pink, sunset orange, peach, and even gold. Finally adding a magnificent white bud blooming in the center of the garden. A thin black shadow emerges on the floor. Arms wrap around my torso suddenly and Inhale a sharp breath.

_"_Katniss," I sigh, feeling her warmth before I hear her voice; her single brown braid falling onto my shoulder.  
"I've never seen you paint." She whispers, her chin in the nook of my left shoulder blade, her cheek pressed to mine.

"Maybe if you weren't hiding in the woods." I smile slyly, her hair tickles as it brushes against my bare skin. Katniss' head dips back in a little laugh. The sound is sweeter than even the birds. And I plant a quick kiss on her neck.

"What do you see in that strange head of yours?" She muses, knocking her knuckles on my skull; her gaze fixated on the canvas.

"I don't know yet." I lie, I know exactly. Setting down the brush, I place my hands on hers and sigh, feeling the beat of her heart thump through her shirt.

"The colours are lovely, but nothing says perfection like white." She whispers, her breath on my ear.

In silence we gaze at the painting. The sunlight catches the colours brilliantly. The rhythm of her heartbeat is soothing and within minutes our breathing is in sync. Katniss sighs in awe, kissing my neck.

"Hazelle invited us to a picnic in the meadow?" Her lips still pressed into my skin; her fingers tracing my stomach. "Should I cancel?"

"No, no." I say, both longing to relax in the midst of tall green grass surrounded by laughing children and yet eager to finish my masterpiece, "Wait for me?"I ask, peering up to meet her gaze.

"Always." She smiles, kissing me full on the mouth.

As her lips ignite sparks with mine, a hunger stirs inside me, burning my tongue. Flexing my arm, I hold Katniss' head in my hand, entangling my fingers in her hair. With each whip of her tongue, a wave of dizziness washes over me as the hunger warms my chest, through my bones and lighting a fire in my soul. Immersed in the pink sunlight behind my eyelids, our kiss on the beach flickers in my mind. Suddenly, my lungs are inflamed and I snatch my lips from hers and suck in a deep breath. _She literally leaves me breathless._

Katniss' hand slips out of mine and the warmth of her body disappears. My eyes snap open quick enough to see her slender frame slip out the window.

The hunger inside me simmers, longing for her touch, her warmth. Sighing, I turn to the canvas. The naked patch of grey stares at me.

A smirk curls the sides of my mouth as I pick up a clean brush and dip it into the white. Effortlessly, I paint the image seared into my mind with a hot poker. I paint an elderly man in a crisp white suit and a rose in his breast pocket, chained to a metal chair with shackles around his ankles and spikes across his torso.

...

"_Always."_

In the twilight of venom, Katniss whispers in my mind. As I wake, I remember holding her, nestled in bed. _Stay with me, _she'd said. _Always, _I whispered, but the sleep syrup claimed her before she could hear. Somehow my mind has trapped this word to torment me.

I realize before I even open my eyes, I'm sitting in the metal chair of the Chamber. The question was, had I fallen asleep during a daydream or was Katniss and the painting a tragic figment of a nightmare laced with venom? Sighing, I crane my neck up. My heart skips a beat. I'm staring into the snakelike eyes of President Snow.

My eyes widen in horror, a shiver runs down my spine as I think of the proximity of Annie and Johanna to this man who despises me. My eyes narrow, as rage courses through me.

"It's a curious thing, watching people sleep." He says casually, fiddling with the white leather gloves in his hand. "It's no surprise you whisper Miss Everdeen's name."

I think my tongue has frozen and speech will be impossible, but I surprise myself by replying in a voice equally as casual. "I know what you're trying to do." I say, "It's ingenious actually. I'd shake your hand but...as you can see I'm a little tied up." I smirk, shifting my arms ever to slightly to jiggle the chains binding me.

"What is it you think you know, Mr Mellark?" Snow asks, raising a hairy white eyebrow.

"Changing the rules of the Quell to eliminate the Victors, of course..." I reply, feeling a fire light under my belly.

"You know your history." Snow seems impressed. _But he has no idea what I know._

"Then instructing the Gamemakers to give Katniss and I scores of 12, provoking the Careers." I say, remembering the dagger eyes they'd aimed at us during training. "When the Careers failed to kill us and our alliance formed on the beach, you erected the force field. When Katniss burst into tears, she convinced you of her true feelings." I'm furious now and there's no water to extinguish the flames.

My body breaks out in a sweat at the memories. "But why stop there when you can use her ultimate weakness as more than bait!?" I seethe, rattling the chains and clenching my fists until my knuckles turn white. "Why not brainwash me with hallucinating venom. In the hopes that, as a weapon fuelled by fear and rage, I'll kill Katniss myself..." My breathing is heavy, my heart raging like a beast caged behind my ribs.

Snow is speechless, frozen where he stands. His snake-like eyes locked on mine.

"But that's where your plan fails," I say in a near whisper, leaning back in my chair and relaxing my hands, "Because the rebels will be more than eager to execute a traitor."

Snow thaws from paralysis, licking his dry cracked lips. The blood on his breath makes my stomach churn. "You're very clever...I see you have a fire of your own." He begins to pace slowly, "Truth be told, I knew medieval torture was futile. If you knew any rebel secrets you'd rather die than divulge them. So in a way, I owe you congratulations. You're no longer a piece in my games." He says and steps closer to me. "You are the game."

It takes a moment for his last words to sink in. Then the full weight of it hits me. Disgust rises in my throat and I spit on Snow's shoes. His jaw clenches and I know I've crossed the point of no return. Raising his hand, he snaps his fingers and a door opens from within the bright white wall.

A red haired man in an Avox uniform is thrust into the Chamber and tumbles to the floor before my feet. Darius peers up at me with a bloody lip and bruised nose and suddenly I remember his face. He'd defended Gale for game hunting and suffered a blow trying to free him from the whipping post. _Darius is a traitor for protecting Gale and now he is going to die because of me._

A strangled sound escapes me. A strange combination of a gasp and a groan that comes from being submerged in water, deprived of oxygen to the point of pain. Darius' eyes widen with fear as Snow pulls on the white leather gloves.

Suddenly I'm thrashing in my chair, as Snow's fist collides into Darius' jaw with such force he's knocked back. But Snow is merciless, pounding bruises and slashing gashes across his face and neck. He kicks Darius once twice three times and I hear the snap of breaking bones.

I break out in a sweat as a cry erupts from Darius. It's truly indescribable, raising the hairs on the back of my neck and sends a shudder through me. I lunge forward in the chair, the spikes across my torso puncture and I feel a gooey warmth that can only be my blood.

Soon Snow's white gloves are saturated red and his suit is splattered. Darius is writhing on the ground, coughing up blood. _He's bleeding internally, he only has a few minutes left. _Suddenly, Snow takes a breath and straightens up. He slips off the gloves, dripping now and pulls a handkerchief from his breast pocket. Sighing, he wipes the sweat and blood from his face.

I'm glowering now, my chest rising and falling in fury. Darius lies dying on the ground, curled into a ball. Snow's snake-like eyes never leave mine as if he doesn't wish to miss one second of my reaction. His message is clear: one more wrong move and Lavinia is dead. In this moment, Snow knows I would do anything to keep Katniss safe. He knows I would never let the love of my life die even if it means I have to lose my own.

The white door opens again and without a word, Snow disappears. For a moment, only the sound of my heavy breathing fills the Chamber.

"Darius?" I whisper, hoping despite his injuries he holds onto a flicker of life. But he's crippled and immobilized.

The door opened again and two guards emerged. Seeing Darius in a pool of his own blood stopped them in their tracks. I can tell by the look in their eyes, they're impressed by the damage such a fragile old man can do with his bare hands.

"Release me," I say in a low growl, my gaze roaming Darius' body for a pulse. The guards were frozen where they stood. My head snaps up impatiently, "NOW!" I scream, jutting forward in my chair.

The guards side step passed Darius and with a ring of old keys begin to unlock the chains. As the chains fall to the floor, I feel a weight lift from my shoulders. The second I'm free, I slump to the floor. Glancing over Darius' body, I fear touching him will cause him more pain. Hesitantly my hands shake as I grab his shoulder and turn him over.

I let out a small cry, seeing his bruised face. One eye is bruised a deep purple, swollen and bloody. Unable to snatch my eyes from him, I suddenly regret attacking the guards and beating them bruised.

"Darius look at me," I whisper, cradling his torso in my arms. Under my hand I feel a faint heartbeat. "Open your eyes." I say, shaking him slightly. Darius sighs suddenly and my breath catches in my throat. His eye opens and a single tear slips out. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Is all I can muster, tears stinging my eyes.

Darius gulps and I know he wishes to say something. Strangely, he raises his hand and I think it's to wipe away my tears when he pulls at the collar of his uniform. Frustrated, Darius tugs at it but suddenly he's shuddering, his body seizing in my hand. Before I can brace myself, Darius inhales a single breath and his heart stops. Conflicting emotions rage inside me, a dangerous cocktail of rage and revenge. With three fingers, I close his eye and stifle my tears. His grasp clenches tightly on his collar and slowly, I pull it aside. Seared into Darius' skin is a mockingjay scar. A smile creeps onto my face. _At least his death won't be in vain._

When I return to the Cage I don't dare speak his name, for fear opening my mouth would unleash the aching sobs building beneath my chest. His screams will forever torment my nightmares. Darius was beaten to death right before my eyes. His blood is on my hands. Afflicting such spite on Snow wasn't worth Darius' life. His screams will forever torment my nightmares and I regret not holding my tongue. For if I had Darius would still be alive.


	11. Part 11

The horrors of the next few days are the worst I've ever endured in the Cage. Portia and Effie, the rebellion and the ashes of my home are a candle flicker in the darkness of my reality. With every venom induced coma, I wake from the nightmares in a cold sweat, kicking and screaming, trembling and bleeding.

Annie struggles desperately to comfort me. But my memories are blurred, infused with puddles of frightening color, the smell of burning flesh and creatures that ferment in the recesses of my tortured mind. How many times must I watch my family die, swallowed in the flames of the bombing? Relive my father's last words? Feel my own body ripped apart? Soon, even Annie loses hope of ever again seeing the boy with the bread.

Johanna doesn't dare look at what I've become, as if in a fit of rage she might kill me herself. Night after night, I lie awake dying to drift off long enough for her to smother me in my sleep. Especially when I ascend into the Cage muttering treacherous things as the nightmares rage on.

Strapped to the metal chair, the familiar sting unleashes a burning, like my skin is on fire as the venom courses through my veins. In a shiny haze, the Chamber begins to morph. Thick green grass and insects sprout through cracks of the blood stained tiles. From the dirt, twisted and tangled roots grow rapidly into towering trees. Foliage blooms from every crevice, beautifully frightening in a glossy glaze, swallowing all traces of white. _And once again, I'm in the jungle. _

The sun is bright and hot, beating down on my bare skin. The air warm and heavy with moister. The thin white cotton clings to me with sweat and I suddenly realize the spiked chains have too morphed and thick green vines now entwine around myself out of the chair, the thorns bite my fingers, drawing droplets of blood. Finally free, I dash behind a tree and listen. There's only the sound of birds and the sway of the trees through the breeze.

Sighing, I wipe my sweaty forehead and bloody fingers with a patch of moss. Then I pain-stakingly remove the stingers and a foul-smelling green liquid oozes a thought dawns on me. _I'm in the middle of the jungle with no weapons. _Gritting my teeth, Haymitch's voice whispers _Stay Alive. _Rolling my eyes, I scan the jungle for any signs of life. There's no dirt trail or footprints so it's safe to assume I'm alone. _For now. _My eyes dart frantically as I cut through the dense moss-coated vegetation. Trudging deeper and deeper, I search for something, anything I can fashion into a spear.

Suddenly I hear a sharp zap. I freeze, my foot hovering over a patch of dazzling pink flowers. Gazing into the distance, I spot a butterfly on the ground, its orange wings sizzling. Grabbing a branch of hard nuts hanging like grapes, I chuck them. And one by one, they pop against the force field. _I'm hallucinating, if my heart stops beating, what are the odds I'll awake in the Cage? It'll be quick, I won't even feel it. _Shaking my head, I force the thought from my mind. Because despite imminent death lurking around every tree, I cherish a slither of hope that I'll hold Katniss in my arms again.

Weary of the tangled roots, I toss the nuts as I go. And every so often, when a nut hits the force field there's a puff of smoke and the nut lands blackened with a cracked shell. Pangs of hunger rumble in my stomach as I peel off the shells of a few cracked nuts and pop them into my mouth. My tongue recoils at the mildly sweet taste, like hazelnuts. Katniss' cry shocks me and I flinch, mid-swallow. "Mags! Spit that out. It could be poisonous." And Finnick's heart-warming laugh, "I guess we'll find out."

A pang of sorrow hits me square in the chest as I recall the memory. I was lingering so closely to death during the Quell yet somehow my brain traps this moment of pure uncorrupted tranquility and let it emerge in my hallucination to taunt me now. And my eyes water knowing sweet little Mags sacrificed herself so Finnick could save me. Only for Snow to hijack me into a monster. A strange anger arouses inside me, how easy it would be for Katniss and the rebellion if I was dead.

Sighing, I lean against a tree, feeling the heat draw the moister from my body like a sponge. Already swallowing is difficult and fatigue is creeping up on me. Dizzy, I sink to the ground and try to picture the arena and its clever clock design. A perfect circle with the Cornucopia in the center, surrounded by salt water. Where everything hour beacons a new horror, a new Gamemaker weapon. The only source of food was oysters Finnick fished on the beach, Mags' mystery nuts and a strange possum-like rat.

In my stillness, animals creep from their hiding places, impressively camouflaged into the lush green plant life: exotic birds with sharp beaks, dangerous talons and colorful feathers, little red lizards with flickering blue tongues and finally. Lingering slowly from branch to branch is the rat possum: no bigger than a cat, covered in grey fuzz with two gnawing fangs. _I can't kill it without a weapon or skin it with my bare hands. If I can snare it, I can roast it with the force field. But I can't be wandering through this god-forsaken jungle defenseless. _

I find a thin tree, no older than a sapling which sways in the humid breeze. _This is a bad idea. _A boyish voice in my head whispers as a smile creeps on my face. Taking a deep breath, I break into a sprint and jump. When my hands curve around a low hanging branch, I heave myself up and climb a few feet, my body pressed to the trunk. A long thin branch catches my eye. I kick the branch hard. The entire tree shakes and within minutes the branch is severed, dangling in mid-air. I'm reaching out to catch it when suddenly the branch snaps and plummets to the earth, slashing a gash across my hand.

Cursing under my breath, I clench my fist and jump. Landing on my feet, I slowly open my palm. With hours of spikes digging into me in the Chamber, the bloody gash is numb and painless. Ripping my shirt, I tear a strip, revealing the belt of scars across my stomach and bandage my wound. Snatching up the branch, I find a shaded spot and dig through the dirt, searching for a sharp rock. Within minutes my hands are grimy, but at least I can forge a weapon.

As time dwindles by, the sun lingers in the evening sky and I'm basked in the warm glow of an orange sunset. I sit a few feet from the force field, staring straight ahead. The long branch is now several pieces. One, two and three are strapped to the belt across my chest, woven from blades of long grass and four is skewered through the tree rat. With the fifth and a hollow stick, I'd managed to drill a hole in a tree where a slow stream now seeps out and fills into a plaited grass bowl.

After my dinner of roasted rat, tree milk and nuts, I relax gazing at the starry sky and expecting canons to boom any moment. Moonlight shines through the dense canopy, illuminating patches of earth. A shiver runs down my spine as I recall our first night in the jungle, ghostly pale and green in the moonlight.

Without warning, a boom startles me. Jumping to my feet, I snatch the wooden stake from my belt and glance around. The ticking of insects ceases as if the jungle itself is anxious. Then I see it. In the distance a dazzling bolt of electricity strikes a towering tree and a lightning storm begins. I hear the pitter-patter of rain on petals. The moment after it stops, fog hovers over the earth.

_Something's wrong with this fog, it's not natural. _A sickeningly sweet odor invades my nostrils, but before I can move tiny searing stabs of mist scorch my skin. I break into a run as droplets spring free of the body of vapor. They burn, as the chemicals burrow deep into my flesh. _I need to climb. _

Suddenly, I spot a large boulder, leap and kick off, hurtling into the air. I grab hold of a branch and heave myself up. My leg begins to twitch as I climb higher and higher, desperate to escape the fog. Catching my breath, I lean my head against the trunk cushioned with moss. Now I can see the claws of fog, its curly fingers slithering through the pass and the fog thrives in eerie shadows.

My pulse is still racing when I strangely find myself yawning. As I drift off, I try to imagine a world far off in the future with no Hunger Games and no Capitol. A place like the meadow in the song Katniss sang to Rue as she died. A place where children can be safe and the people of Panem can live in peace. I wake with a delicious feeling of happiness lingering on my lips.

But that's when I see her, strolling through the jungle of dead plants the fog sucked dry of life. Her jumpsuit is ripped, slashed across her torso and speckled with holes. She's quiet, stealthy, with her bow poised at her hip. The moonlight basks her in a pearly glow, illuminating her face. I see a flicker of red. Maybe it's my eyes playing tricks on me but as I squint, there's no denying her eyes are blood red and glowing. As I watch her, a strange fascination washes over me. Like watching a predator in their natural habitat hunting its prey. She creeps out of eyesight and for a moment I'm frozen. The soft humming of insects calms my nerves and I sigh. Clutching my stakes, I scamper down the tree and hit the ground in a sprint.

In the short time, it takes to cross the jungle, I become aware of a change. Like in temperature, a shiver runs down my spine. Blame it on a wavering sense of impending doom or killer instinct. But the mass of warm bodies poised above me and the swarm of breathing ignites a surge of adrenaline to my heart. I don't dare glance up, fearing these monkeys sense aggression. Tip-toeing around the tangles of roots, I realize now that quiet is not my strong suit. Quivering, I unhook a stake from my chest.

A branch snaps under my foot but it's as if I've triggered a bomb. The monkeys explode into a shrieking mass of orange fur. I've never seen a mutt move so fast, sliding down vines, leaping unbelievably from tree to tree. Fangs bared, hackles raised, claws shooting out like switchblades. Leaves smack me in the face, cutting me as I crash through the jungle. Without a knife or arrows, I'm defenseless against those vicious claws and teeth. They chase after me, howling unbearable shrieks. A monkey lunges from a tree at me and I thrust the stake into its heart, splattering myself with blood. They leap to attack and I have a second to react, throwing the stakes like daggers and snatching them from the carcasses. The air is grows heavy with the stench of trampled plants, blood and the musty stink of monkeys.

One jumps on me, its claws pricking my skin. But before I can react, razor sharp teeth sink into my shoulder. I yelp out in pain, blood spewing from the bite. I'm dizzy, stumbling through the jungle when one latches onto my thigh, claws tearing my shirt.

Plunging the stake into its head, the monkey howls, sinking its claws dirt turn to sand beneath my feet and the smell of salt overpowers the reek of blood.

I shiver runs down my spine as I gaze at Katniss. Arrows shoot from her bow, targeting eyes, throats and hearts. Screeching pierces my ears and suddenly the monkeys latched onto me fall to the sand, arrows plunged into their heads. She throws me a knife and I hack away. Monkey after monkey meets the blade. Suddenly, Katniss' scream pierces my ears. Peering over my shoulder, a monkey lunges for her. I throw my knife at the mutt, but the creature somersaults, escaping the blade. It knocks her to the ground, the bow sprawling out of her grasp. She's screaming, her hands thrust before her face as its claws lock onto her. Katniss has but seconds to live, so I do the only thing I can think of.

Falling to my knees, I plunge my last wooden stake through its back.

The screeches cease as the monkeys retreat into the jungle. Katniss inhales a sharp breath, shuddering beneath the stake. The monkey's grasp weakens and blood pools on her neck. She sighs, a sly smile creeping on her face. The beach is serene with only the bubble of waves meeting the sand. Despite the dead monkey latched to her chest, I can feel Katniss' heartbeat.

A sensation stirs inside me, growing warmer and spreading through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the very tips of my being. As the moments pass, her silver Seam eyes never divert from mine and I know she feels it too. Tossing the monkey into the sand, I climb on top of her. She cranes her neck, her nose brushing mine and I trace my tongue along her lips. I'm so painstakingly close when a flicker of red flashes in her eyes and my hands lock around her throat.

"Peeta," Katniss flashes that seductive smile, batting her eyelashes. Just the sound of her voice twists my stomach onto a knot of unpleasant emotions like guilt, sadness, fear and lust. A smirk curls my lips as I squeeze. "Peeta," Katniss pants, her voice hollow as my thumbs press down hard on her windpipe. "You're choking me." Her hands fumble, tremble as she clutches me, desperate for air.

"Give me a reason not to." I seethe, my voice a low growl through gritted teeth.

Her eyes grow wide, "The monkeys..." She croaks, taunting me.

"Are dead Katniss," I smirk, glancing around the beach of furry orange carcasses. Then I notice her bow. "But you'd love to drive an arrow through my heart." I whisper, bowing my neck to kiss her forehead and inhale the scent of her hair. She shudders beneath me, vibrating my lips.

"Peeta, I love you." Katniss whispers, my eyes lock on hers as tears run down her cheeks.

"Oh Katniss," I chuckle, shaking my head. I've killed a muttation of the girl I once loved a dozen times. A knife, arrows and even poisoned her with those precious blue berries. Every time I kill her a piece of me dies, but that doesn't extinguish the sadistically sweet joy I feel in knowing my name is her dying breath. "You were always such a terrible _liar_..." I whisper, "And a filthy _mutt_!"

As my grip tightens, my knuckles pale white and Katniss chokes on air, thrashing out beneath me. Her neck grows a shade of deep red and I can feel her ever-fainting pulse. When Katniss grabs a handful of sand, I have a second to disarm her. Gritting my teeth, I pin her arm down with one hand around her neck when suddenly she jerks up and head butts me. A shot of pain surges to my brain and I hear a tiny crack. Knocked off balance, I stumble backwards onto my knees and wipe the blood gushing from my broken nose. My head is spinning as black dots spark out. Rubbing my eyes, I blink and suddenly I'm gazing at the arrow soaring from her bow. 

I bolt upright in the Cage, my hand jerking up to the arrow that seconds ago targeted my shoulder. Breathing heavy, I tremble, adrenaline pulsing through me. After a few moments, my body ceases to shake in fear but my heart still beats rapidly beneath my chest. I breathe deeply, filling my lungs, no longer inhaling the scent of blood nor the sound of Katniss' screams.

Annie stirs in her sleep, wrapped in the fleece blanket. The rise and fall of her chest is calming to my frenzied tremors. I sigh, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead and freeze, feeling prying eyes. Peering over, Johanna is sitting stone still with a look of fear and loathing on her tear-glazed face. She's pale, her eyes bloodshot as if she hasn't slept in weeks and her hair is messy and matted to her forehead with sweat. In this moment we both know _I'm losing my mind._

The camouflaged door opens in the white wall and two guards storm into the Cage. Tossing the blanket off, I pull on my shoes and lace up the strings, I'm getting to my feet when Johanna lunges for my hand and I'm suddenly locked into her fragile embrace. She's shivering, her breath hot on my neck.

"You have to let me go Johanna," I whisper, brushing her hair. The warmth that radiates through her and into me is both calming and ignites an ache no amount of praying can vanquish.

"Peeta I can't lose you both." She sobs, her tears soaking my shoulder. Despite the tormenting nightmares and my struggle every day to fight them; without me, Johanna is alone with Annie, an emotionless soul who'd succumbed to the fear of her imminent death.

As the Cage rotates ever so slowly, Johanna whimpers shuddering in my embrace and Annie rustles in her sleep. My cage opens and the guards haul me to my feet with Johanna's hands still locked on my shirt. A shrill sound echoes off the white walls as my shirt tears, revealing my scars. Annie sits up groggily, rubbing her eyes, her tangled ginger curls framing her rosy heart-shaped face. My name is just forming on her lips when the door closes shut and I'm submerged into darkness.

I'm dragged into the shadowy corridor once more. My eyes adjusting to the dim light only to be flashed with the harsh spotlight, as I'm grounded before the elevator. There's an echo in my ears, a numbing sensation as I prepare to die and the feel of fingernails digging deep in my collarbone and loaded guns pinned to my sides. Like clock-work, the elevator beeps, the doors swoosh open and I'm faced with Frankie and Bennie. When the guards release their grip, I stroll into the elevator and place my hands before me as the doors close. _Somehow a pair of handcuffs have slipped someone's mind_.

Once again I'm confronted with the reflection of my sickly, deteriorating body. Except my white uniform is stained with dry blood and ripped. In the mirror, I can see Frank's roaming eyes. _Trust me, it's not all mine, _I think to myself. My gaze locks on Frank's gun and I strangely recall our first encounter. _The odds aren't in your favor_, he'd said. _What would it take for a bullet to be in my favor? _I think, knowing there are few solutions left and if I'm going to die I'd rather die the boy with the bread than a piece in Snow's game.

With the jerk of my hand, I grab the gun holstered to Frank's hip and shove the barrel under my chin. Frank lunges, throwing his arms around me. But my finger is on the trigger. There's a moment of pure silence as they both inhale a sharp breath, fearing that the next few seconds will be my last.

"Do it..." A voice taunts in a low growl. It's both familiar yet not entirely mine. He's Snow's monster, battling me for control. "It'll be an act of mercy."

"Listen to me," Frank demands, his arms locked around me. He's seen the effects of the Chamber, the frailty of my deteriorating body is the tip of the iceberg. But two voices speaking in my head, Frank nor Bennie are oblivious to such damage.

Portia's voice whispers in my mind _Be yourself Peeta. _A pang of sorrow rips me open, remembering their smiles struggled through tears. _Be myself,_ I whisper. My name is Peeta Mellark. I am seventeen years old. I am a Victor in the 75th Hunger Games and survivor of the 25th Quarter Quell. District Twelve is my home. There is no District Twelve. Katniss Everdeen is the Mockingjay and the love of my life. The rebels hide in District Thirteen. Johanna Mason, Annie Cresta and I are prisoners of the Capitol. Snow killed Darius the Avox with his bare hands. I am not a mutt. I am the boy with the bread. I am going to kill Snow.

Tears prick my eyes as I replay the words over and over in my head. Breathing deeply, I concentrate all my energy on the feel of Frank's heartbeat, desperate to hold onto this moment.

"Frank." His brother warns, placing a stern hand on his shoulder. There's a tension in the elevator that's as thick as the fog in the jungle. It weighs heavily in the six by six foot space and poisons the air we breath.

"He deserves to know!" Frank hisses, peering over. Their heated stare lasts a long moment, flickers of shame and guilt shine in Frank's eyes then slowly Bennie retracts his hand.

Frank sighs and lowers his lips to my ear. "They've found the Mockingjay." A shiver runs down my spine and I'm paralyzed with an immense stomach-lurching fear that shakes the gun under my chin. My body breaks out in a sweat imagining the bombing of twelve and the screams of my family as they're swallowed up in the raging flames. _They're lying_, he whispers, implanting doubt in my mind. My eyes narrow as I gaze at Frank who so desperately wishes to pry the gun from my grasp.

"You work for Snow, I don't believe a word you say." For all I know, Snow could have easily planted this information in the hopes that in a moment of weakness, I may divulge rebel secrets.

Every nerve in my body tells me to run and hide but there's a gnawing in the back of my mind that tells me otherwise. As much as it could be a trick, Frank could be genuine. Suddenly something astonishing happens. I uncurl my hand from around the gun and I turn around to face them. Frank pulls down the collar of his uniform and right there seared into his skin is the mockingjay. He fights for the rebellion, allied with Portia and Effie, Darius and Lavinia in this treacherous fight against Snow. Pursing my lips, I nod, casting my gaze down and Frank readjusts his collar.

"You need to warn her," Frank says gravely. There's an urgency in his voice that alerts a sense of impending doom, "You're the only one she'll trust." Despite the shift in alliances on camera. Katniss knows I fight alongside the rebellion and calling the ceasefire was a matter of life or death. It's the rebels who will call me a liar and a traitor.

"And if I can't?" I ask.

"Then they'll be dead by morning." Bennie says simply and no amount of bracing myself can numb the heart ache. Thirteen will be a heap of ash and rubble scattered with burnt bodies like twelve. I have no choice, I have to warn her yet in doing so I'm endangering Lavinia's life. But if Katniss dies as does the rebellion and Snow will win.

When the elevator door opens, a foul smell invades my nose. And suddenly I'm running with my hand over my mouth. I fall to my knees and hurl into the toilet. A strange concoction of bread, nuts and fruit makes me gag. I'm trembling and sweaty when a second wave erupts. Black spots pop in the corner of my eyes as I flush the toilet. I lean against the tub and notice for the first time the disheveled state of the bathroom. Glass is smashed, the mirror is cracked and towels litter the floor. A memory flashes in my mind and I remember my violent outburst following news of twelve's bombing and the death of my family.

I turn on the shower and stand under the hot water for a full minute before I realize I'm wearing wet ripped clothes. I toss them into the sink and lather myself in foam. Silently, I scrub myself from head to toe. Only stopping to vomit again right in the shower. It's merely bile and goes down the drain with the sweet-smelling bubbles, sweat and Darius' blood from underneath my fingernails.

I haven't cried. I'm numb. But the numbness can't dull the pain in my throat, the emptiness in my stomach, or the bitter taste in my mouth and it certainly couldn't take away that one sentence that's still echoing in my mind that changed everything.

Switching off the shower, I tiptoe around the floor of broken glass and wrap a towel around my waist. Emerging from the steam, the smell of blood and roses overpowers the smell of shampoo. And I suddenly notice the crisp cream suit and gold tie laid out on the bed. A single red rose is tucked into the breast pocket. It's both a gift and a warning from Snow.

When I emerge from the bedroom, I brace myself for the foul smell wafting through the penthouse. Holding my nose, I walk into the living room and suddenly am queasy. The long mahogany table that was once piled high with mouthwatering delicacies is now teeming with slimy white maggots. Every dish is infested: maggots swimming in the green pea soup and crawling in the rice. The chicken is bare to bone and the bread appears to be breathing. I peer over and I realize its a breeding zone. Vomit rises in my throat with every breath inhale. So I grab a bottle of wine and the script.

I escape on the roof where Katniss and I picnicked on our last day of freedom. I'm surprised to see our hide away is untouched so I sit within the bundle of blankets in the garden of flowers and take swigs from the bottle . The fresh air, the warmth, the wind, the immense beauty of the spectacular pink, yellow and orange blaze of sunset arouse a bittersweet ache in me. As the sun descends below the horizon, I remember the girl with the grey Seam eyes and the voice so pure the birds stop to listen; the girl with the braids and red plaid dress twirling a dandelion around her finger. Blame the wine or the flux of memories, but a strange delirium washes over me, a foolish happiness in realizing I'm going to die and the sunset is the last beautiful thing I'll see on this earth.


	12. Part 12 - The Finale

The Capitol seal appears on the large plasma screen and the national anthem plays. I'm sitting in an elevated chair beneath the bright hot auditorium lights with a vast map of Panem projected behind me. Snow stands at his podium with the familiar white rose tucked into his breast pocket of his charcoal grey suit. His snake-like tongue wetting his dry cracked lips as he greets the nation with open arms. Oblivious, I scan the crowd for Lavinia, Portia and Effie. Like Darius, they never returned to the penthouse after my last interview. Which means they were held captive somewhere in the dungeons of the Capitol. If not in Snow's mansion itself.

That's when I see them. They're watching from a booth, accompanied by lavishly dressed Capitol stylists and their extravagant diamond-studded entourage. Effie sits closest to the stage, wearing a light blue gown; her curly blonde hair adorned with little blue butterflies. Portia sits beside her in classic black, proudly wearing her rhinestone choker and a cold-hearted stare. And Lavinia sits beside Portia, in a shimmering red gown with long red gloves hiding her scar. When Lavinia catches my eye, her rosy tear-glazed face lights up and she gives Portia's hand a squeeze. But Portia doesn't dare snatch her gaze from Snow; as if one look at me may crack her protective shell and unleash a flood of tears or worse pure unadulterated fury.

The eyes of Panem turn to me, an entire nation leaning forward in their seats. I clear my throat, adjust my tie and demand a ceasefire. My voice is shakes as I highlight damage done to key infrastructure in various districts. And parts of the map light up, showing images of the destruction: a broken dam, a derailed train with a pool of toxic waste spilling from tank cars, a granary collapsing in a fire. Under the treacherous glare of Snow, I blame the chaos on the infamous Mockingjay and her rebel armada.

Without warning, Katniss is on television standing in the dusty rubble of my parents' bakery. A pang hits me in the chest, sheer shock rendering me speechless. As images are projected on screen, a wave of frantic whispers sweep through the auditorium. The words fumble out of my mouth as I struggle to fixate their attentions on the bombing of a water purification plant. Suddenly I hear a familiar voice and my jaw drops to the ground. Finnick O'Dair is no longer the charming green eyed Victor of District Four. But a soldier of the rebellion, his face no linger bearing that healthy glow but hollow, exhausted and grief-stricken. Finnick is over shadowed as the broadcast deteriorates and is bombarded with photos. I can hear Snow's frantic technicians struggling to control the broadcast then the Capitol seal flashes across the television again. Through restrained anger, Snow plows through his speech and asks if I have any last words for Katniss. My face contorts at the sound of her name on his bloody lips and I gaze into the camera again, mustering every ounce of courage I can.

"Katniss...how do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts." My voice shakes as I imagine the burning of twelve and the districts of Panem, "And you... in thirteen..." I inhale a sharp breath, feeling the noose around Lavinia's neck tighten in Snow's cold wrinkled hands. "Dead by morning!" The Capitol people let out a strangled gasp.

"End it!" Snow orders from the booth as the television is flooded with photos of Katniss. The stage is in chaos, the camera is knocked over as guards swarm in.

I'm hauled to my feet, throwing punches when a gun knocks me in the jaw and I cry out in pain, smacking my face hard on the floor. Blood and spit spew from my mouth and splatter on the tiles. Strangely a wild and untamed rage engulfs me as memories of Snow beating Darius to death flicker in my mind's eye. With a rush of adrenaline, I kick a guard hard in the knees and he plummets to the floor. Hovering over him, my hand curls around his collar. The blow of my fist unleashes a deafening sound as I punch him again and again. His face swells with plump bruises and my knuckles are coated in blood.

When I hear bones breaking, a dark chuckle escapes and curls my lips into a smirk. Hands lock around me from behind and I'm thrust back-ward onto my feet. A guard strides toward me but I jut my foot out. He stumbles, clutching his stomach and groaning. I lunge and headbutt him in the nose. The guard tumbles, hauling two more to the ground. Knocking my head back, I stun the guard and his grip around me slackens. Elbowing him, I feel the crack of a rib and the he howls out in pain. Gritting my teeth, I grab his arm and flip him over my shoulder. He crashes to the floor and curls into a ball. I'm reaching for his gun when the sound of gun fire makes me flinch. I suck in a sharp breath, bracing myself for the pain.

But it's Effie's cry that shreds my very nerves. My gaze diverts from the guard at my feet to Effie who falls to her knees. Portia lays on the stage quivering, her red hair cascading over her face. Tears gush down Effie's pale cheeks and her hands tremble violently as she lays Portia across her lap. "Portia..." She whispers but her voice barely registers over the sound of my heartbeat raging in my chest. Suddenly Effie hands are smothered as she clutches the spot where the bullet has punctured Portia's chest.

The scream begins in my lower back and works its way up through my body only to jam in my throat. I'm an Avox mute, choking on my grief. Even if I could release the muscles in my neck, let the sound tear into space, would anyone hear it? The room's in an uproar and people are fleeing the auditorium. Every muscle in my body itches to lash out, my hands shake as I battle rage and heartache. But I'm frozen to the spot. Portia's name is on the tip of my tongue when heavy hands clamp down on my shoulders and I'm dragged off stage, unable to tear my gaze from Effie who cradles Portia in a pool of blood glistening under the sparkle of lights.

I'm shoved into the eerie corridor once more and the huge auditorium doors lock behind us but my ears are still plagued with frantic screams. Glancing around, I expect to see Lavinia in her beautiful red dress with her hands bound by cuffs. But she's vanished without a trace. Instead Snow lurks in the shadows wearing a coy smile with the white rose twirling around his finger. "I warned you Mr Mellark," Snow muses, strolling toward me. His snake-like eyes unwavering as if desperate not to miss a second of my reaction. He's standing so close I can smell the blood on his breath.

"You disgust me!" I spit in his face, lunging at him in my chains but the guards have an iron grip on me. "I eagerly await the day Katniss shoots an arrow through your head!" Snow's face contorts into a grimace, his eyes narrow darkened. In this moment, I lust for a merciful bullet. But a cruel smile curls Snow's lips as he back-hands me across the face. The sheer force of the slap buckles my knees. The pain is blinding and jagged flashes of light flicker across my vision. I black out with only the taste of blood and tears in my mouth.

My ears buzz with the an unbearable numbing sensation as I wake. Dizzy and disoriented, my body aches as I move. Suddenly my fingers lace through hot grains of sand. Coughing, I spit blood and clutch my head, pulsing with a migraine. The numbness thaws and a shiver runs through me as the noise breaks through my grogginess. I open my eyes and blink, blinded by the sun beating down on me. Something moves in the corner of my eye and my body tenses, agile and alert. A woman in white with luxurious ginger curls materializes from the shimmering haziness. She's twitching with tears gushing down her cheeks as black birds swarming around her.

My face drains of colour, "Annie!" I scream, kicking up sand as I hurtle toward her. I smack the air with such force I'm thrust back and the wind is knocked out of me. The impact of the blow ignites sparks and suddenly I realize I'm trapped in a transparent cage. Crawling into my knees, I scream Annie's name and pound my fists against the hard smooth surface. I hear her cries as the jabber-jays bite her, sprouting droplets of blood, but she can't hear me.

Without warning, Finnick crashes out of the jungle as orange monkeys chase after him, hackles raised and howling. Finnick's eyes flicker with fear and relief as he sees me. But he smacks the cage and trident knocked from his hand. Finnick lets out a small yelp and crawls to his knees. It's then that I see blood trickling down his suit from a broken nose. The monkeys leap from the trees onto the beach. As if a reflex, Finnick snatches his up his trident and with each stab, a monkey plummets to the sand. Dead.

The sharp screech of metal pierces my ears, making me wince. Cringing, I tear my gaze from Finnick as the monkeys converge on him. Desperately, I search the beach and the dense jungle. _What is it?_ I demand, my eyes dilating as the arena comes into focus. Blue water, pink sky and Johanna. She's standing on a pedestal off shore, wielding her axe ferociously as golden tentacles rise from the sea and wrap around her ankles. With each swing of the axe, a slimy tentacle is severed from the creature only to regrow another. Trapped by her fear of water, she'll drown or be eaten alive before she can swim to shore.

Falling back into the sand, I thrust my hands over my ears, desperate to drown out the treacherous symphony of sounds. Without warning, I hear a soft harmonious giggle. My head snaps to Annie, who now sits in a pool of her own blood. But she's paralyzed in shock, drained of colour and emotion. Strangely, I notice the shells scattered around her. My gaze wanders up the tree and my heart skips a beat.

Katniss sits in the tree, with a perfect view of the chaos, eating the mystery nuts and giggling deliriously. Her bright red eyes dart to me suddenly and my body convulses in fear and fury. Tossing the nuts, Katniss arms her bow and shoots an arrow at the cage, igniting sparks. The rush of adrenaline makes me nauseous. The crack of bones sends a shiver through me. Snapping my head around, I gaze at Finnick. It's not until the knife falls from his hand and thick blood pollutes the sand that I realize the monkeys have cracked his skull.

Suddenly the ground jerks and sand trickles into the earth. With a sharp zap, the cage shatters. Shielding my face from the shards, I wince as glass cuts my bare arms. The monkeys howl, retreating into the jabber-jays squawk and disperse into thin air. Crawling on my hands and knees, I whisper Annie's name and take her head in my hands. Her once emerald green irises have darkened into bottomless orbs. The blue veins beneath her pale skin protrude to the surface, blackened by poison. Her corpse disintegrates into embers until dead ashes slip through my fingers.

The world spins fast, incredibly fast. Bracing myself, I dig into the sand and hold on. Lightning cracks, wind whips across my face and the sky darkens with thunder clouds. The world bursts into flames, trees wither succumbed to wildfire and burn to ashes. The heat is horrendous, but worse is the smoke. I pull the collar of my sweat-soaked shirt over my nose and squeeze my eyes shut.

A sharp ring pierces my ears, waking me from unconsciousness. My body aches as I writhe on the hard ground beneath me. Snapping my eyes open, I realize immediately the once sandy beach is now a paved cobblestone street. My throat is sore and with each inhale of jagged breath, I suffocate. Coughing hoarsely, I free the smoke from my lungs and brush off the thin layer of soot. My eyes widen in shock as the world materializes from the smoke. The square plagued by a whipping post splattered with dry blood, the smoldering marble of the Justice Building, the sizzle of burning embers. _District twelve is on fire._ The smell of dead hearts and incinerated flesh makes me gag. Screaming people, bleeding people, dying people scatter frantically, fleeing. Bombs obliviated what once was the Seam and now is a city of collapsed buildings in charred heaps. The fires at the coal mines belch black smoke in the distance.

Strangely, a suspiciously ordinary silver parachute falls from the sky and lands in the center of the square. Without warning, the parachute explodes. The sound busts my eardrums but it's the sheer force that knocks the ground out from under me. Crashing into a pile of bricks, I howl out in pain. Gasping for air, I feel the warm ooze of blood trickling down my spine and shudder. I sit paralyzed for several minutes until the numbness thaws to a throbbing ache. Gritting my teeth, I suck in a deep breath and cringe, mustering every ounce of strength to heave myself out of the rubble. A searing pain shoots up my spine as I stand.

That's when I hear my name. My gaze darts to a little bakery scorching in flames. Stumbling across the square, my eyes sting and water. The roof of the bakery has collapsed and the window display is barricaded by fallen beams but the heavy wooden door is still secured to its hinges. My hand clasps around the knob and I cry out, gazing at the blistering pink burn in the palm of my hand. Uttering a curse under my breath, I clench my hand into a fist and jut out my elbow, breaking a window. My breath catches in my throat as my father's striking blue eyes meet mine. Blood trickles down his temple from a gash across his wrinkled brow. I reach through the window and grab his hand. But it's too small for even I to climb through. My gaze flickers back and forth, trying desperately to decipher an escape route but suddenly I'm peering over my father's shoulder.

Three blonde haired bodies lay dead, buried beneath feet of rubble, coated in blood and flour as the fire blazes from every crevice of our home. My heart aches as I gaze at my family and a strangled sob shakes me to my very core. The crackling of wood frightens me. Scanning the ceiling, I realize the last standing beam will collapse any second, swallowing my father in a sea of flames. My father smiles softly and plants a single kiss on my forehead; his hand pink with burns slips from mine as he backs into the flames. I'm screaming now, kicking the door ferociously. The beam snaps and right before my eyes my home succumbs to the fire. Stumbling back, I fall to my knees and cry, choking on my grief.

Scores of parachutes rain down from the sky. Children emerge from the school, eagerly for food, medicine and gifts. They scoop them up and fiddle with the strings, seconds pass and without warning twenty parachutes simultaneously explode. A wail escapes my lips as the square is bombarded with tiny bloody bodies. Some children die instantly from the blast, others crawl through the crumbling cobblestones, crying out in agony. From the smoldering vestiges of the Justice Building, a flock of white uniforms sweep into the chaos. But they aren't Peacekeepers; they swarm in among the children, wielding medical kits.

Strangely, I catch a glimpse of the blonde plait down her back. Then as she yanks of her coat to cover a crying child, I see the duck tail of her untucked shirt. Heart pounding and adrenaline pumping through me, I limp across the square, shouting her name. I'm so close when she hears me. Just for a second she sees me. And that's when the rest of the bombs explode.

The blast knocks me into the rubble, the fire licking my bare arms and burning the edges of my clothes. Coughing uncontrollably, I stumble across the square and fall to my knees. "Prim." I whisper, through my sobs. Slowly, I cradle her fragile bleeding body in my arms and brush the blonde hair from her porcelain face. Her eyes are closed and her breathing is painstakingly shallow. _But she's alive_. "Prim." I whisper, rocking her slowly. She shudders, breathing one last breath and her body goes limp.

As the smoke clears, I notice the dead bodies scattered across the square, burnt and bloody. A child stumbles through the wreckage, shivering and calling someone's name. Suddenly an arrows shoots through the child's head and he plummets to the ground. I follow the arrow to the roof and my heart rages beneath my chest. Katniss stands atop a building armed with her bow, targeting anything still breathing.

"KATNISS!" I growl, shuddering with rage as I pace. A bag of coal catches my eye, I striding over, I grab the handle and throw it high and hard over my shoulder. Katniss is quick, dodging the flying coals but loses her balance and tumbles down the side of the building. Her bow escapes her grip as she dangles from the gutter. As I storm toward her, Katniss plummets to the ground, rolling over and gasping in pain. Her eyes dart to me and panicking, crawls toward her bow. She cries out when my foot snaps it in half and I kick her hard. She yelps hoarsely and clutches her stomach. I climb over her, pinning her down with my weight. A dark chuckle escapes me as I slowly scrape a long shard of glass across her cheek. Thick red Blood spews from the gash and she begs me for mercy. A boulder of cement catches my eye. As I reach for it, Katniss squirms and shrieks beneath me. I'm raising it above her head when the scuffle of boots startles me.

"Peeta," Someone whispers, shaking my shoulder. I jerk awake, gazing at a pair of Seam grey eyes. My first instinct is to lunge but the chains restrain the impulse. But it's not the mutt of my nightmares.

"Gale?" I whisper, my voice husky. He was the same tall, broad shouldered man with a scowl etched across his face. But he wore a soldier's uniform, branded with the infamous mockingjay symbol and held a large gun. Gale gazed at me tensed with his brow furrowed, as if he's seen a ghost. Strangely, a simmer of agitation, relief and anger coils in the pit of my stomach. I sigh and relax in the chair. The shackles chimed, brushing against metal snatching Gale's attention.

"Where are those keys?" Gale growls as the Cage descends into the Chamber. A soldier strolls in, wearing a uniform identical to Gale's. Standing before me, both men gazed in confusion at the ring of little silver keys. I'd watched with the same perplexity as the guards chained me into the chair. Truth be told, the shackles were as sophisticated as the torture itself. There were a total of twenty small keys. The trick was finding the locks, because they were impressively camouflaged and only revealed when the specific key was aligned.

Having watched the guards, I guide the soldier, with the name 'JACKSON' stamped onto a patch on his left breast pocket. My legs were first and when the heavy chains clunked to the tiled floor, still stained in Darius' blood, we simultaneously exhaled a breath we didn't realize we were holding. The air of light-hearted relief vanishes the second my knees are unlocked. Slowly, Gale removes the chains and I groan, relishing the weight off my body. Gale's eyes widen, gazing at the belt of pink wounds and pricks of blood stained on the thin white cotton. Once completely freed, I rubbed my wrists, still pink from the handcuffs and turn to Gale but before I can open my mouth, the Cage descends into the Chamber once more.

Eight rebel soldiers stand on the platform wearing uniforms branded with the mockingjay and holding guns. An older man whose uniform featured several badges converses strategy with another soldier. Annie whispers quietly with a soldier, who tightens a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and Johanna stealthily steals a knife from a soldier's belt and tucks it into her waistband. When Annie's eyes lock on mine, her cheeks flushed pink and her dimples showed.

"Annie!" I chuckle as she leaps from the Cage and runs into my embrace. She hugs me tightly,knocking me a little off balance and I bury my face in her curls.

When she finally releases me, she holds my cheeks in her palms. "Do you know these people?" She whispers, peering suspiciously over her shoulder at the armed soldiers.

"They're here to rescue us." I whisper back in her ear and smile as Johanna playfully elbows me in the ribs. She gives me a sheepish grin and pull her body into my embrace and kiss her forehead.

The older man whose name is Boggs glances in my direction and strides toward me. "Mr Mellark," He commands in a tone that demands all our attentions. "On the behalf of the citizens and refugees of District Thirteen, I salute you. You saved many lives." He says and raises a firm hand to his temple. The soldiers line in a row and do the same, even Gale looks proud. _Yes I saved lives but I put my loved ones at risk to do so_, I think but only nod.

"How are we getting out of here?" I ask, cutting to the chase.

"We've devised a route using the catacombs." Boggs says, tapping a button on his watch and a hologram materializes from thin air. A map of the building lights up, blinking with green dots indicating our warm bodies. A red line traces through the underground tunnels leading directly out the Chamber. Suddenly the camouflaged door opens in the white room and Frankie and Bennie emerge. Every loaded gun aims in their direction, little red lasers targeted to their chests. Frank raises his hands in surrender but Bennie's clasp the gun in its holster. There's a tension in the air at the strange stand off.

Boggs commanding voice breaks the silence, "At ease soldiers. They're one of us." The soldiers lower their guns and Frank strides toward Boggs with relief etched across his face.

"Commander," Frank gives Boggs a salute. "The catacombs are clear but my men can only buy you minutes before Snow knows they've escaped." My heart sputters with the thought of Snow. Boggs nods and purses his lips.

"You only have one shot," Bennie says rather defiantly catching all our attentions, "Snow's guards won't hesitate." The tension in the Camber is suddenly suffocating. The soldiers look to one another as if realizing that this rescue mission could go sour at any moment and cost their lives.

"The fate of the rebellion rests with this mission." Boggs says in a voice that could lead a nation. "We alone are responsible. Let's make the Mockingjay proud."

And with that we file out of the Chamber into the narrow corridor. Boggs and Frank lead, guided by the hologram. Annie, Johanna and I are clustered in the middle. Gale and Jackson are closest to me, their guns raised slightly and Bennie heads up the back. It takes my eyes mere seconds to adjust to the near darkness. Small spotlights hang from the ceiling around the maze of pipes and wiring. The soft shuffle of boots and breathing is the only noise above the hiss of steam above our heads. As we walk, I notice the doors and shudder wondering what horrors lie in those Chambers. That's when I hear a sound, no louder than a whisper but raises the hairs on my body. I notice a light coming from under a door and hear the stomach-lurching noise that I only associate with Darius.

I grit my teeth as we pass, but the cry of agony shreds my very nerves. With a huff, I spin on my heel, budging my shoulder against Gale's. Bursting through that door, no amount of bracing myself could extinguish the sheer shock of what was right before my eyes. Lavinia lies on a metal table in her beautiful red dress. Wires are taped to her temples, hooking her up to a machine that beeps erratically as her body convulses in a cold sweat with her eyes shut tight. Without warning, Lavinia's tremors cease and the beeping flatlines. Fear and adrenaline kick-start my heart and with a jolt, I lunge for her. But arms are thrust around me.

"Peeta it's too late." Gale says through gritted teeth, struggling to withstand my strength.

"I can save her!" I cringe, writhing against in his locked arms. _I don't want to hurt you Gale, but you're giving me no choice_. Sucking in a breath, I knock my head back. Gale cries out stunned as my head collides violently with his chin. Wielding all my strength, I rustle myself from his grip and stumble across the room as he curses himself to oblivion. Suddenly I'm paralyzed, gazing down at Lavinia. Jaded with guilt, I fight the urge to hold her as if she were asleep. Slowly, I pluck the wires from her body and the noise ceases immediately. I smooth out her dress and place her hands in her lap. Kissing three fingers, I raise them into the air. In this moment, I say goodbye to: Lavinia, whose scar was beautifully tragic; Portia, who protected me with her life; and Darius, whose death will not be in vain.

Sighing, I walk out of the torture chamber and close the door behind me. The squad of soldiers gaze at me with a look I can only describe as empathy. They bow their heads for a moment of silence. Gale's face is screwed up in a grimace as he grudgingly bows. Annie is teary, clutching her blanket with Johanna's arm around her shoulder. Anger bubbles up inside me and I'm suddenly overcome with the urge to punch someone.

"She's dead," I say defiantly, unable to hide the hatred in my voice. Heads snap up at me with guns loaded. "Let's go before we're next."

No one objects so we keep moving, maneuvering through the maze of tunnels that seem to stretch for miles. As we marched in silence, I struggle to focus on the route ahead, watching the little green dots blink on Boggs' hologram. But my mind is frazzled, flickering with flashbacks as our shadows dance off the black walls. Darius beaten to a pulp. Portia drench in a pool of her own blood. Lavinia sprawled out on the metal slab. In the darkest recesses of my tortured mind, Effie is trapped, suffering a horrific combination of their merciless deaths.

A door materializes at the end of the corridor. Boggs and Frank halt and the entire squad inhales a breath as they press their ears to the door. Gale tenses beside me gripping his gun with a vice and suddenly I feel defenseless. The hologram on Boggs' watch blinks with a dozen red dots scattered across the room. With a sharp nod and a clenched jaw, Frank slowly eases the door open. To our relief, the chitter-chatter of the guards overpowers the faint creak of the heavy metal hinges. The room is bigger than I'd imagined, cluttered with desks and computers. We huddle together, with Annie, Johanna and I in the center while the soldiers expertly maneuver around the edge of the room with their guns raised and deadly silent. The guards are oblivious, hunched over desks piled high with paperwork, typing away on keyboards or lounging around the coffee table relaxing and eating their lunches.

A group of guards catch my eye. I've seen dozens since my imprisonment but they were familiar. Squinting across the room, I suddenly realize why. One had a thin piece of white tape on the bridge of his broken nose, two's hands were plastered in bandages, three had long scratch marks engraved from his temple to his neck, four's face was purple and bruised with a black eye and a disfigured jaw and five was missing an ear. _These are the guards I've attacked with my bare hands_. A strange smirk curls my lips as I admire their injuries like a painter takes pride in his art.

Minutes pass incredibly slowly as we tiptoe on the edge of danger. Annie is cowering in fear, her body tense and rigid. Slowly, I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her into my side. Her anxiety thaws at my touch and with a sigh she smiles up at me. She's cold to the bone and clings to my warmth. Suddenly, we hear a soft sneeze. I tense and the squad freeze, arming their weapons. The air clouds with alarm as the guards glance around curiously. Peering down, I see Annie sniffling, wiping her nose on the blanket. The colour drains from her face as she realizes she's blown our cover.

A guard spot us suddenly and he shouts, catching the other's attention. But before his hand can wrap around the gun, a shot is fired and he falls to the floor dead. The room is in an uproar with guards scattering like roaches. Boggs yells for us to stay swift and keep our heads down. Gun shots echo off the walls, bullets bouncing off the computers, shattering glass, peppering the floor in shreds of paper. With every fire, my mind flashes back in time, to Portia bleeding out on the stage. Desperately, I scan the room for an escape and that's when I see the door. Adrenaline pumping through me, I yank Johanna and Annie under my arm and break out in a run, oblivious to Boggs and Frank who call after me. The squad disperse in every direction, targeting the swarm of guards. Dodging bullets, I fall to my knees and hastily wrangle a large gun from a dying guard. Johanna tugs Annie, whose hands are over her ears, up the small flight of stairs. I can barely hear Johanna's screams above the shots. Peering up, I see her frantically pounding on the door with her fist while Annie punches numbers into a keypad.

_It's locked. _I curse under my breath and bolt for them when out of the corner of my eye Gale gets shot in the shoulder. Gritting my teeth, I run for him and feel a bullet graze my cheek. Slinging the gun around my arm, I kneel and pull Gale to his feet.

"Gale, don't you dare die on me." I seethe, mustering all my strength. One hand around his waist we trudge up the stairs to the door.

Johanna and Annie steady Gale as I grab the gun. Standing back, I fire a round of bullets into the keypad, destroying it until its hanging off hinges and kick the door wide open. Hastily, I push Johanna, Annie and Gale into the cold. Harsh wind whips my face, sending a violent shudder through me. It's pitch black outside, the vast green lawn blanketed in thick white snow. A Capitol issue hover craft flashes its lights as Annie and Johanna trudge through the blizzard. Scanning the chaos of gun fire, upturned desks and dead bodies; I whistle and catch Jackson's attention. He's crouched in the corner, a layer of sweat on his brow and a desperation in his eyes. He shouts into his watch and the soldiers emerge from their hiding places. One by one, they sprint across the room, ducking and dodging the bullets.

Once we're all outside, I slam the door shut behind us and wedge the gun against the knob, locking the guards inside. Swiftly, the soldiers and I sprint across the lawn and climb into the hovercraft. I'm standing with one foot on the ledge when I feel prying eyes on the back of my neck. Peering over my shoulder, I gaze up at the president's mansion. The windows are dark but standing on the balcony illuminated by candle light is Snow. His snake-like eyes trained on me as if not to miss a second of our escape, with the white rose twirling around his finger.

Suddenly the stomach-churning smell of blood and roses invades my nose and every horrific nightmare flashes in my mind's eye: the jungle of orange carnivorous monkeys and skin-blistering fog, the jabberjays and sea creature on the beach, and the bombing of District twelve. _He was there, lurking in the shadows. _With a shudder, Haymitch's voice echoes in my ears, 'Insanity is like gravity, all you need is a little push'.

"Peeta?" Annie shakes me and with a jolt the world refocuses around me. She's gazing at with worry shining through those giant emerald eyes. "Are you alright?" She asks, placing a warm hand on my arm. The squad is buckled into the hovercraft, watching, waiting on me.

"Ugh, just a little dizzy," I lie, climbing in and locking the door shut behind me. I shuffle passed Annie and Johanna and take the window seat next to Jackson. The engine hums to life and the lights switch off as we're lifted off the ground. Gazing out the window, my eyes dart to the balcony but Snow has vanished without a trace and only the rose is left. I sigh, relaxing as the engine vibrates through my body and listen to the steady breathing of the soldiers.

"Damn you look like hell Mellark," Gale chides breaking the silence. He's sitting opposite me, the shoulder of his uniform soaked in blood with a smirk plastered across his face.

Agitation bubbles up inside me and I fight the urge to punch him. "Bite me." I warn, shooting him daggers and rubbing some heat into my cold hands.

"Don't fret bread boy," Gale taunts chuckling, "Those Capitol clowns will make you pretty again." He says, raising his hands in a 'no offense' gesture. Gritting my teeth, my gaze darts to his bloody shoulder.

"That's a nasty gash," I nod, sitting back in my seat; Gale shrugs, wearing the wound like a battle scar, "Portia wasn't so lucky." There's a blunt sarcasm in my voice, twinged with resentment, that I don't bother to hide.

"Peeta?" Annie whispers, snatching her gaze from the window; her face ghostly pale in the moonlight. A breath catches in my throat at the stark realization. Johanna's hands, feverishly trailing her thighs, freeze. Annie's lingering gaze sears a hole in my cheek so hot that I can't stand the burning and refuse to look at her. The entire craft succumbs into a eerie silence, each breath eager for the dirty little secret.

That's when I notice the wooden crate beside me. Raising an eyebrow, I steal the knife fastened to Jackson's belt and switch open the six inch blade. Jackson tenses beside me and a smile creeps into my face as his hand twitches for his gun. Even Gale looks intrigued. Thrusting the blade into a crack in the crate, I pry off the lid and let the wood clatter to the floor. Annie jumps, alarmed by the noise but I can only smile at the stash of gifts. Canned fruits, chocolates and candy, saltine crackers and potato chips, loaves of bread and cheese, bottles of water... _Ah there she is_. Tucked behind the first aid kit of medical supplies and stack of bandages is a bottle of white whiskey. Snatching up the bottle, I screw off the cap and take a gulp. The bitter alcohol slithers down my throat, lighting a simmering sweet fire in my bones. I lick my lips and swish the whiskey around in the now half empty bottle.

"Haymitch has rubbed off on you." Gale says, sounding rather impressed. A chuckle escapes me as I take another swig. My gaze darts to Johanna but she's fuming, her chest rising and falling like she's having a heart attack. She's slipping the knife from her belt and without warning she's lunging across the hovercraft at me.

"Johanna!" Annie shrieks by her sudden outburst. Gale jumps to his feet and wrestles a snarling Johanna. Jackson hastily struggles to pry the knife from her hand but she's waving it wildly like a rabid mutt.

"Sedate her!" Gale yells, heaving Johanna off the ground. Suddenly, a needle is plunged into her neck, her screams die and the knife falls to the ground. Johanna's body goes limp in Gale's arms and her eyes close as he tucks her into her seat.

Gale plops down before me, wiping his sweaty brow, "What the hell was that Mellark?" He growls, gazing at me.

"God knows," I hide my smile by sipping from the bottle, "It was brutal in there."

Gale's eyes narrow, darting from me to Annie, shocked-speechless, to an unconscious Johanna. He sighs, shaking his head. "Get some sleep, it's a long way to thirteen." He orders, closing his eyes.

Bathed in silence, I smile and gaze out the window. But it's Annie I see in the reflection. Confusion and pain flicker across her face. And for a second, it's as if she sees right through me. For a second, it's as if she knows the boy with the bread is gone.

I wake to the feel of hands on me, cold hands. A bright light blinds me as I open my eyes and bolt upright. My head is pounding and dizzy and I grab the bed to steady myself. A noise beeps in my ears as the world comes into focus and suddenly I realize I'm in a hospital ward. A trio of doctors in white coats survey me, checking my pulse and gawking at the burns on my chest. My breathing slows as I relax on the pillows.

It's then that I hear the scamper of feet. And suddenly my heart skips a beat. Standing in the doorway with that single braid and dark grey eyes as bottomless as the sea, is Katniss. Her cheeks are flush with colour and her eyes are teary. Leaping from the bed, my mind runs rampant. _I want to kiss her, touch her, caress her, _it chimes desperately. _I want to kill her. _She's smiling with open arms and my name on her lips when when my fingers lock around her throat.


End file.
